


Blood Games 2: Blood Feud

by Frenzy5150



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2018-05-29 00:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6351853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenzy5150/pseuds/Frenzy5150
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Blood Games. The new face of an old enemy threatens to destroy everything Kristoff has rebuilt. Can he prevent it without destroying it himself? Kristanna. Gladiator!AU/Viking!AU Rated M for blood, violence, & other questionable content. Disclaimer: i own nothing, this is for fun only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! And welcome to my humble attempt to write a sequel. If you haven't read my fic Blood Games, go read that first. This fic will make a lot more sense if you do. Comments are always welcome :)

 

Prologue: Six months after their Handfasting

Kristoff bolted upright, gasping hard for breath, clutching the bed furs with hands shaking with visceral terror. _Just a dream_ , he panted, desperate to convince himself. His pulse thundered in his ears, his veins flooded with the ghosts of old fears. _J-just a dream…_

But the fear was too strong, constricting his throat with tight bands of dread. He'd lost his family, his friends, half of his lifetime, and now that he's rebuilt so much of what he'd lost those old fears crept back up to torment him. Especially now, now that he had so much more to lose.

He wanted to be strong, to master the fear and anguish tormenting him on his own. To swallow it back down and bury it in the past where it belonged. Where it should have stayed. He tried, breathing through his nose in a vain attempt to control it on his own, but he couldn't. It's still there, scratching at his consciousness like a rat in a grain bin. He couldn't do it, not on his own. He glanced to his side, and only then did his racing heart start to quiet.

She was there, safe and warm and softly snoring.

She was the Lady Anatonia Ustrina, _Imperiatrix Destinatus_ of the distant Roman Empire and beloved younger sister to the Empress herself. The former Gladiatrix of Gallia who could slice a man from gob to groin faster than a lightning strike. His beloved. His Anna. His _wife_. His little Aeris, as he called her during their sojourn in the _ludus_ and still called her to this day, almost two years to the day he earned his _rudis_ , the symbol of his freedom.

Though free, the following nineteen moons were arguably the worst of his life. That's saying a lot for a man who spent a decade as a slave, forced to fight and kill to survive and protect his one remaining friend after witnessing his parents' murders and their village's destruction. He'd lost so much in his young life, made to endure so many horrors, yet in his mind that paled to the year and a half without her smile. Without her fire. Without his heart.

It still amazed him that she travelled halfway across the world for him. That she, an Imperial Princess and heir to the throne of the mighty Roman Empire, chose him. She could live in warmth and modern splendor with the world at her feet, yet she chose to live simply with him here in the frozen northlands. He couldn't help but grin, remembering fondly her awkward yet enthusiastic forays into the village to make friends. Her stubborn yet self-deprecating laughter as she learned how to live and thrive in their much colder environment. Her stilted yet endearing stumblings as she learned their language. His people were drawn to her feisty nature as well as her prowess with her blades. It took some time, but eventually they welcomed and accepted her as one of their own.

He ran a tired palm over his face, rubbing grit from his eyes, scratching at the several days' worth of stubble on his jaw. Judging by the crazed state of her hair it was well past midnight, but still hours until dawn, which came earlier and earlier as the summer solstice approached.

He knew why his old fears of pain and loss haunted his dreams. What she told him earlier that evening stirred them up like bubbles in a peat bog.

He wanted to wake her. He should; the gods knew they both still fought nightmares. He lost count of how many times she woke him, or he woke her, trembling and disoriented and desperate for comfort. How many times they laid entwined, wiping away tears, soothing tensed muscles, the gentle rhythm of one heartbeat calming the other's racing one. He knew that if their roles were reversed he'd want her to wake him, no matter how tired he may be.

But he didn't wish to disturb her when she so greatly needed her rest. She hadn't been sleeping well for weeks, and he knew why now. So instead of waking her for comfort he laid down beside her and pulled her into the curve of his chest. She mumbled a bit before burrowing back into him with a contented sigh. He sighed too, finally relaxing. Her scent and her warmth soothed his soul and chased his fears back into their dens. He brushed his hand along her waist and rested his palm against the subtle little swell of her belly. The promise of things to come.

He smiled as he curled himself around her, safe and warm in his arms, and drifted back to sleep.


	2. Chapter 1: No Place Like Home

Anna stood on a rocky outcrop and gazed down at the little farmstead on the edge of the gravel strand. It wasn’t much, just two wood and thatch cottages with a collection of smaller outbuildings scattered nearby, and a sizeable garden in the gateyard. A flock of small, shaggy goats cropped the scraggly grass under the watchful eyes of an even shaggier wolfhound in a pen tucked under a nearby stand of trees, and rows of crops stretched out behind it. It was a simple, even meager place. It might not have looked like much to worldly eyes like hers, but to her it was more precious than the finest marble palaces in Rome. It was her home.

 

It had been twelve winters since she came home. Twelve years of learning a new culture, a new language, a new way of life. Yes, it was more primitive than she was accustomed to, and a lot colder, but her heart was so warm it didn’t bother her in the slightest. _He_ was there, as was the family they had made. They were together, so it was home.

 

 _He_ was her husband, her Kristoff, and he was currently in the gateyard sparring with their two eldest children. 11-year-old Valeria and 10-year-old Gydda both wielded short-bladed wooden practice swords, and both struggled fiercely to fend off their father’s longer-bladed _rudis_. It didn’t help that their 8-year-old brother Agdarius laughed whenever their father scored a hit. Valeria stayed focused on her ‘foe,’ but Gydda couldn’t take the ribbing and decided to chase after her younger brother instead. Realizing she was on her own, Valeria switched tactics and went on the offensive.

 

She stabbed and sliced at her father, the clack of their wooden blades sharp in the crisp morning air. Kristoff stepped back out of her range, so she pressed forward. Valeria held her practice blade loosely in her hands, darting it at his arms and chest with whip-like speed. He parried her attacks with a grin, and took a swing at her shoulder, _rudis_ parallel to the ground. She dropped to one knee and flicked her wrist, landing a solid hit against his thigh just as he reversed his slash and brought his blade down to rest against the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

 

“Better!” he grinned, praising his eldest. “You did much better that time than the last.”

 

“But you still got me, Poppa,” she pouted.

 

“Aye, but you got me too,” he hugged her to his side, ruffling her pale blond hair. “Don’t stay crouched so long next time. It leaves you vulnerable in close quarters.”

 

“Your daughter fights like you do,” the dark-haired woman standing beside Anna murmured. Suqi held one of her twins on her hip while Anna cradled the other.

 

“Valeria’s managed to blend her father’s training and my own to make her own style,” Anna replied, gazing fondly down at her family below. “She’s a lot like her namesake, my sister.”

 

“While Gydda is a lot like you,” Suqi smirked. Anna grinned at her second child, who bellowed words no ten-year-old should know as she chased her brother, the late spring sun glinting off their coppery red hair.

 

“Your husband is a bad influence on her vocabulary,” Anna remarked.

 

“My husband is a bad influence on a lot of people,” Suqi agreed.

 

“I can hear you, y’know,” Sven groused from where he sat with his 6-year-old daughter Sigrun and Anna’s 6-year-old son Sigard. Both children were born on the same day and were as close as siblings. Olaf sat between the children, and they were teaching him a game involving making intricate patterns between their fingers with a length of string.

 

Both women laughed. Suqi walked over and ruffled Sven’s shaggy brown curls. His pout melted into a lovesick grin as he gazed up at his wife. Though they hadn’t been married as long as Kristoff and Anna have (Suqi led him on quite the merry chase before she turned the tables and hunted _him_ down), they still felt young and very much in love. Not that Anna and Kristoff were any different. Gydda was quite vocal in her complaints that her parents embarrassed her with their own antics.

 

Anna smiled softly at her friends, then turned her gaze back down to the farmstead below. Kristoff had Gydda in one arm and Agdarius in the other. A tolerant smile lessened the impact of his otherwise stern demeanor as he likely scolded them yet again about focus and appropriate behavior.

 

Anna frowned. Something wasn’t quite right about the scene before her. Everything looked normal enough: the blue-gray waters of the fjord lapped at the gravel strand. The wind rustled the tops of the crops in the gateyard garden. The ravens called out to each other from the treetops, but then they went silent. The goats were agitated and clustered to one side of their pen, and the underbrush near them moved counter to the wind.

 

Anna pressed her fingers to her lips and let out two piercing whistles. Kristoff dropped the two children and they bolted for the main house, Valeria close at their heels. Anna drew her _siccae_ and pointed to the goat pen. Kristoff nodded, dropped his _rudis_ and drew the long-bladed _spathea_ he wore on his back. He put himself between the house and the pen, eyes alert.

 

Sigard and Sigrun hurried over and took the twins from Anna and Suqi, then ran down to the house with Olaf trailing behind them. Anna sprinted down the outcrop, followed closely by Sven and his axe. Suqi grabbed her short-limbed bow and a handful of arrows from her belt quiver. She stayed up top but crouched down so as not to be outlined by the sky.

 

The ravens exploded from the trees a moment before a band of bearded men rushed out of the underbrush, weapons poised to strike.

 

“SIX!” Suqi called out, loosing three arrows in rapid succession. Two buried themselves in the lead raider’s chest while the third took him in the groin. He fell and rolled in the dirt while the rest scattered, weaving as they ran, making themselves more difficult targets from a distance.

 

Kristoff roared as he ran, drawing the attention of a black-bearded brute. He deflected the dull-bladed axe slashing at his shoulders and sheared the raider’s arm off at the elbow. He didn’t get a chance to scream, as Kristoff’s next slash nearly severed the raider’s head.

 

Anna darted forward, her long-bladed _siccae_ held low. A scarred raider barreled toward her, _seax_ held high behind him and round shield thrust forward. He tried to plow Anna under, but wasn’t expecting her to move so quickly. She sidestepped his lumbering attack and slashed at his legs, severing his hamstrings. He screamed, but kept slashing at her. She jumped to avoid the blade, but landed clumsily. She stumbled back a few steps before regaining her balance, but her foe was in no condition to take advantage of her slip. She stepped forward and plunged her right _sica_ into his back, slipping it between his ribs, and he died choking on his own blood.

 

One raider ignored the warriors and instead ran towards the main house. He tore through the gate and made it halfway through the gateyard before the snarling growl of the wolfhound distracted him. He turned to face the huge dog, and Sven’s axe sprouted from his back. The raider fell in the dirt twitching, his spine severed. The wolfhound rushed forward and clamped down on his throat with powerful jaws, finishing the job.

 

The last two raiders went for what they assumed was the smaller, weaker, easier target. Anna moved quickly to make them regret their final mistake. She rushed the leader, flicking her blades at his exposed face and arms like the tongues of a nest of vipers. He ignored the blood weeping from a score of cuts and slashed at her flank. She blocked the strike, but its brute force knocked her back on her heels. Her stumble let the second raider circle wide around her, and they pressed hard, forcing her to abandon her attack and switch to a desperate defensive stance.

 

Kristoff barreled towards her at a dead run, but the raiders were quickly herding her away from him. Strike after overhand strike, pounding with their _seaxes_ on her upturned blades as if they were a fencepost, driving her back until she tripped over the corpse of the raider she slayed moments before.

 

He was too far away. He saw her fall. Saw the blade rise up one last time. Saw it descend on her.

 

And then an arrow blossomed from the raider’s throat. Anna scrambled to her feet and darted to the side, letting him tumble stiffly to the ground next to his fallen companion. Anna twisted, keeping the last raider in front of her, but he wasn’t looking at her. He took one look at Kristoff rushing toward him and he turned tail and fled.

 

“That’s right, _filius de choeros foedus_!!” Anna brandished her bloody _siccae_ and shouted at his retreating back. “Run back to your masters and tell them this land is no easy mark!”

 

Suqi stalked down the hill, arrow nocked and ready, scanning the area for hidden foes. She and Sven joined Kristoff and Anna as they watched the last raider disappear back into the woods.

 

Once the raider was long gone, Kristoff stormed over to Anna. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

 

“Defending our home,” Anna replied calmly, cleaning her blades on the cloak of a fallen raider before returning them to the sheaths strapped low on her back.

 

Sven and Suqi glanced at each other, then walked towards the house to check on Olaf and the children.

 

“There were only six of them, Aeris. There was no need to put yourself at risk!”

 

“With so few there was no need to risk you or the others getting hurt needlessly.”

 

Kristoff cocked an eyebrow at her, and she had the decency to blush. He wrapped his long arms around her and kissed her forehead. She tried to glare at him, but her expression turned sheepish. “Haven’t we had this argument before?” he murmured against her skin.

 

“Hmmm,” she relaxed in his embrace. “At least four times.”

 

His palm curved protectively along the swell of her belly. “And at least a dozen times during each of those times?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Anna,” he sighed.

 

“Maybe more?”

 

“Definitely more,” he chuckled, then turned serious. “I worry about you, Love.”

 

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

 

“And I wish you wouldn’t put yourself in harm’s way when you’re with child.”

 

“Do you really think I can go five more moons without lifting a blade?”

 

“A man can dream, can’t he?” Kristoff joked, pulling her tightly into his embrace. He joked to hide his worry, his fear. He held her close and tried to banish the sight of the raider’s _seax_ descending toward her.

 

He could feel the nightmares lining up in his mind.

 

* * *

 

“Six fully-armed men with the element of surprise and you couldn’t take out one pitiful farmstead!?”

 

“They had help, m’Lord! There was an archer, and one woman who fought like a rabid wolf and spoke a foreign tongue!”

 

“I wanted plunder from this raid, Borg, not excuses.”

 

“What does ‘fee-lee-us’ even mean? Sounds like _urk_ \--!!” a hand at his throat cut him off.

 

“ _What_ did you say?”

 

Borg choked and gagged, fighting for breath as the hand squeezed. He nearly pissed himself when the hand picked him up off the ground. Kicking and squealing like a stuck pig, he barely squeaked out the answer his master demanded before the hand crushed his windpipe. He was thrown to the ground with a snarl where he cowered and gasped for breath, rubbing at his nearly ruined throat.

 

His master loomed over him, fists clenched, shoulders bunched and heaving with a seething rage that centered on one word spat from clenched teeth:

 

“Romans…”


	3. Chapter 2: Omens

The _Langhus_ was filled to the rafters. Villagers, fishermen, even families from distant farmsteads came that day. Men and women alike gathered around the two glowing firepits, their children close at hand. Usually gatherings as large as this were to welcome the Spring, feast the newly handfasted, or to celebrate a great victory. But that day’s gathering discussed a far more somber topic: Raiders. Kristoff’s and Anna’s farmstead wasn’t the first, and it wasn’t the only one hit in the last month. At first the raids were an annoyance, sporadic attacks easily fended off by farmers skilled at defending their own…

 

_Kristoff and Anna took their family to the village a week after the Raider’s attack to visit their friends, and learned that theirs was not the only farmstead attacked. Sven had been busy tending to the wounded. “No deaths though,” he said._

_“Not among our own, at least,” Suqi’s grin was less than pleasant._

_“These Raiders are cowards,” old man Jorvik spat, then took a pull on his tankard and wiped the foam from his scraggly beard. Sven told the old farmer to sit still while he stitched up a gash in his leg he earned while visiting the widow Bergljot and her family on her farmstead. “They turn and run like dogs when pressed. The gods have no use for such offal.”_

_“It’s almost as if they’re testing us,” Suqi mused._

_“What do you mean?” Sven asked._

_“These raids, they could be so much worse than they are. They only come in small bands, and they’re spread out all along our borders. If so many raiders are around us, why haven’t we seen an actual attack?”_

_“Perhaps it’s a feint?” Kristoff suggested._

_“To what purpose?”_

_“To test our mettle,” Anna chimed in. “They’re feeling us out, looking for weaknesses. Chinks in our armor. How willing we are to fight back.”_

_“And how capable we are at defending ourselves,” Kristoff added._

 

_Their quiet village on the edge of the fjord proved quite capable of defending itself. Most farmers were also warriors, who on occasion went raiding themselves for resources or plunder. These raiders nipping at their borders were an annoyance at most, something to talk about over a tankard to pass an evening. Their village was small and isolated, their farmsteads spread out and self-sufficient, their land hardy yet fertile. They had little use for what they couldn’t make themselves. Besides, the Roman invasion over twenty winters ago left deep scars; they had little need and less desire for pointless frivolities._

 

…But the raids soon stopped being a mere annoyance. Attacks came more frequently, and more ferociously. Several far-flung farmsteads had been stripped of plunder and livestock before being put to the torch. Families fought where they could, and fled when they could not. The first few raids were relatively bloodless. But it didn’t take long before kinsmen started falling, captured or killed, and being called to Valhalla was a cold comfort for those left defending their homes.

 

Kristoff gazed about the crowded _Langhus_. His girls sat across from them with Olaf and a cluster of older village children. Agdarius and Sigard sat near their parents, along with Sigrun and the twins. He couldn’t help but smile at them, despite the somber mood of the meeting.

 

“I’m getting tired of just defending ourselves,” Anna grumbled from her spot at his shoulder. “It’s never good to let the enemy set the terms of the battle.”

 

There was a rumble of agreement throughout the _Langhus._ “What choice do we have?” a lanky villager asked.

 

“We take the battle to them!” Suqi declared, her fierce tone at odds with the gentle way she nursed one of her twins.

 

“But crops need to be tended, else the Winter will be leaner than usual.”

 

“We could shore up our defenses,” Marit, an auburn-haired young woman, offered.

 

“We should do that anyway,” Kristoff agreed. “But that doesn’t do much to stop the raids.”

 

“Perhaps a truce can be brokered?” an older villager suggested. “Maybe they’ll accept some tribute and move on.”

 

“What’s to keep them from coming back the next time they want more?” Sven asked.

 

“Well, what about a handfasting between two of our younglings? That should end this.”

 

“No,” Anna said firmly.

 

“We’ve done that in the past, Aeris,” the lanky villager explained.

 

“Did it work, Lars?” Anna demanded. The villager frowned and looked away.

 

“Exactly. Unions of convenience like that seldom work, because at some point they stop being convenient. I saw that happen too many times in my old homeland, and in many cases the marriages made things worse. Blood feuds are never pretty.”

 

The _Langhus_ filled with the sounds of agreement, and dissent.

 

“Besides,” Anna glanced over at her daughters. Valeria, poised and pale like her namesake and Gydda, flame-haired and feisty, both with their beloved swords strapped to their backs. The other village children talked quietly amongst themselves, young enough to still have stars in their eyes and warmth in their smiles as they all too quickly approach adulthood. “It isn’t fair to ask one of our own to shoulder such a heavy burden alone. Especially one so young.”

 

Murmurs of agreement filled the _Langhus_ as more than one parent gazed at their children.

 

“Well, then what should we do, Aeris?”

 

“Continue to shore up our defenses, like Kristoff said. And see if we can capture some of these raiders alive. If we can find out where they’re coming from and what they want, we’ll be better able to get rid of them.”

 

“Sound advice,” Pabbie’s gravelly voice murmured from beside the fire, surprising everyone as the Elder had remained silent throughout the gathering. “Everyone, keep your eyes open and your weapons close at hand. Be prepared to defend yourselves and your kinsmen.”

 

His words ended the gathering. Some stayed to continue talking defense, others broke off to trade or discuss the weather. Those with a long walk home gave their farewells to their friends. Kristoff shifted as if to stand, but stopped when he noticed Anna gazing thoughtfully at the fire. “Something on your mind, Love?”

 

“I’m missing something,” she mused, staring deeply into the flames.

 

“What do you mean?” Suqi asked, passing her full son to his father while taking the other to nurse.

 

“There’s something…. familiar about these raids. I’m just not sure what.”

 

“Like those raids we had five winters ago, maybe?” Sven suggested, rubbing his son’s back.

 

“No… Maybe… I don’t know,” Anna sighed. “And it may not matter.”

 

Suqi frowned at her two closest friends. “Will you consider moving into the village? You’re awfully isolated out at your place.”

 

“No,” Kristoff said. “It’s our home.”

 

“Well, I’m sure you’ve got everyone under one roof these days, even if it curtails certain activities,” Sven grinned mischievously. Kristoff blushed, while Anna just laughed. “Plus you have that big brute of a wolfhound Olaf gave you.”

 

“Marshmallow?”

 

“I still can’t believe you named him after a flower,” Sven teased.

 

“I like Marshmallow. It suits him,” Olaf said.

 

“What’s wrong with his name?” Gydda asked, walking over with Valeria close behind. “He’s the cutest little flower there is!”

 

“He’s taller than you are, feisty,” Sven pointed out, tweaking her braids.

 

“He makes a good pillow. And he doesn’t snore like Agdarius or stink like Sigard.”

 

“Hey!” both brothers protested.

 

“Enough,” Kristoff shushed them.

 

“Yes, Poppa,” they settled down a bit, but still stuck their tongues out at each other when they thought he wasn’t looking.

 

“We best head out before we lose the light,” Kristoff grunted as he stood and offered a hand to his wife.

 

Anna rose and embraced her friends. Then she gave each twin a kiss on the head. “They’re good luck, you know,” she grinned fondly. Suqi and Sven smiled. The children all hugged Olaf, who hugged them back with a big, buck-toothed grin on his childlike face. They gave their farewells and left the _Langhus_.

 

The late afternoon sky was rich with orange and purple clouds. Anna held Kristoff’s hand as they walked behind their scampering children. Valeria insisted on taking the lead, and Gydda was too distracted by her brothers to squawk about it. Kristoff smiled fondly at his family, but those same old fears wouldn’t let go. “Do you think we should move closer to the village?”

 

“Suqi worries too much,” Anna grumbled.

 

“She may have a point, Aeris. You’re not exactly in fighting form right now,” Kristoff grinned down at her.

 

“And who’s fault is that?” Anna grinned right back at him. He chuckled as he draped his arm along her shoulders and pulled her in close, kissing her temple. They crested the hill overlooking their farmstead and watched Gydda and Agdarius race each other to the wood pile. Valeria checked on the flock while Sigard was tackled by an overenthusiastic Marshmallow, the young boy’s giggles blending merrily with the hound’s barking.

 

“If things get bad, we’ll move to the village. I don’t want to risk the children over our foolish pride,” he said, resting his hand on her belly.

 

“As you wish, Love,” she wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned into him as they walked down to their home.

 

* * *

 

Harak paced back and forth in front of the smoldering firepit. The dying fire glinted off the diminutive pile of plunder, the wicked curves of his blades, and the frightened eyes of his newly-captured thralls. He cared little for the plunder, his interest was wholly on the thralls. He examined each and every one of them closely. Some he grabbed by the hair, some by the chin, others by the throat. He’d look them in the eye, searching for something, but never finding it. He’d drop each thrall to the floor with a growl and move to the next. Six thralls, all women of various ages, more than his raiding parties had ever brought back at once before. But despite their numbers, none of them were _her_. The last one was a wizened old hag, ancient despite her coppery red hair. He drew his snub-bladed _knifr_ and slit her throat in disgust.

 

The old woman spat in his face as her lifeblood poured down her chest, and he tossed her back with a snarl. “ _Móðir_!” the redhead next to her shrieked, and Harak backhanded her with the hilt of his blade. She tumbled to the floor, weeping, then crawled over to cradle her mother’s corpse.

 

Harak rounded on his men, his _Væringjar_ , the fire reflected back from his night-dark eyes. “There are more reindeer than people in this gods-forsaken piss hole, yet you fail to bring me the Roman!”

 

“The villages and farmsteads are too spread out, m’Lord. We haven’t found the right one yet,” a tawny-haired slab of a man answered.

 

“What about Borg?”

 

“He claims he doesn’t remember where he was, and he’s too drunk to torture.”

 

“Oh I seriously doubt that,” Harak growled. “Fetch him. I’ll sober him up myself. I’ve waited too long for this.” Twenty-two winters, to be exact. More than half his life. Much too long to wait for revenge. For redemption.

 

He was barely a grown man when the Romans came and destroyed everything. He was a callow youth back then, all bony elbows and foolhardy bravado, with a head full of women and a belly full of _mjød_. He wasn’t home the night the Legions attacked. Wasn’t there when they slaughtered his friends, his father. He was…. otherwise occupied, so he could do nothing to stop it. There was little left but corpses when he came to, the Legions having captured or killed everyone and moved on. He was even denied a warrior’s death.

 

And for twenty-two years, he fought in every raid and battle he could throw himself into, fighting with an unholy rage that prevented him from being called home to Valhalla. The battles forged him, burning away the dross of his youth and leaving behind the steel. He was as tall and dark as weathered oak, with shoulders an axe-handle wide and eyes a piercing, unmerciful blue.

 

When he wasn’t fighting, he was searching. He would be ready when the time came to make the Romans pay for what they did to him. There _had_ to be a way to get back at them for what they did to him. And he would be damned to Hel’s bitter embrace if he was going to let a drunken fool rob him of his revenge.

 

“You let the promise of plunder distract you, m’Lord,” an obsequious voice clucked from beyond the firepit.

 

“Watch your tongue, old man, or I’ll remove it and see if you still amuse me.”

 

“Remove it if you wish, m’Lord, though it’d make advising you more difficult.”

 

“Your advice hasn’t given me the Roman yet, Calder,” Harak growled.

 

“Apologies, m’Lord,” the man, Calder, stepped into the light and bowed. He was short for a man, though his stoop likely had a lot to do with that. His complexion had a sallow olive cast to it, and the folds of skin that hung from his jowls spoke of a more robust life in the past. A fringe of wispy white hair crowned his pate, and piercing green eyes burned from their sunken hollows. “I too feel your frustration. The Romans wronged this poor old fool too, a long time ago, and you are my last hope for revenge.”

 

“You promised me an army, and a means to get them into the heart of Rome.”

 

“Aye, and you shall have it m’Lord. Yours is not the only people wronged by those vultures. There are thousands of people between you and Rome, all crying out for revenge, all waiting for a leader to guide them to victory.” Calder’s eyes flared with an almost manic glee.

 

“And yet I am still here,” Harak rumbled.

 

“True. But think of how good it will feel to tear this Roman _kerling_ apart. A good omen it would be, yes?”

 

“Yes,” Harak hissed viciously, ignoring how the curse sounded wrong coming from Calder’s mouth. But he was from across the water, as his name implied, so he was bound to say things wrong. Harak grinned, feral and bloodthirsty. It was a grin that, when Borg stumbled in and fell to his knees after being shoved by a pair of Harak’s _Væringjar_ , bled the alcohol right out of his system.

 

* * *

 

The afternoon was stiflingly humid, so everyone was out in the gateyard to take advantage of the relatively cool breeze coming off the fjord. Kristoff sat with Agdarius, teaching him how to properly use the whetstone on his little _knifr_. Valeria and Gydda sat nearby, also tending to their blades. Swords were relatively rare in the northlands. Most warriors used an axe or _seax_ , as they were easier to make and keep. But Kristoff brought a veritable armory with him when he returned home from Rome, and Anna brought even more blades when she came. So their little family was surprisingly well-armed.

 

Anna sat on the woodblock, honing Sigard’s _knifr_ along with her _siccae_ while occasionally enjoying a raspberry from a conveniently-placed wooden bowl. Kristoff learned early on in their marriage that Anna was a lot less grouchy when sweets were available, and raspberries were among her favorites. Olaf and Sigard knelt nearby, petting Marshmallow. The shaggy hound’s big feet were twitching up in the air as the two scratched his belly. Olaf filled them in on the latest news from the village.

 

“Lars’ wolfhound had another litter of pups. Cute little things, too. The runt has red and brown fur, and I hope Lars lets me give it to little Jerrick. Jerrick’s is staying with me right now. I’m showing him how to forage for plants and mushrooms for Sven and Mistress Magnhilde.”

 

“Why? What happened?” Anna asked.

 

“Suqi said the Ingvarsson’s farmstead was attacked, which explains why Jerrick hasn’t gone home. Poor little guy. Sven said that the raiders took his grandmother, mother, and eldest sister, and killed his other sister and left him for dead. He walked all by himself to the village, and he stays with me when he isn’t staying with someone else. He’s actually pretty good at finding _hvönn_ and lingonberries.”

 

Anna frowned. The Ingvarsson’s farmstead was less than a day’s hard ride away. Thyra was a friend, her daughter Inger a few years older than Valeria, and her mother Ylva was a force of nature. It was disturbing to hear that they were taken, and little Kari killed.

 

“I brought this for you from Mistress Magnhilde, Anna.” Olaf handed her a little pouch filled with herbs. “She said to tell you to make a tea out of it and drink it every morning and evening, for the baby.”

 

“I’ve had babies before, Olaf. Magnhilde knows that,” Anna grumbled, opening the pouch to sniff its contents and, making a face, handed it back to Olaf. “I swear she makes this swill more foul each time on purpose.”

 

“But Mistress Magnhilde said…”

 

“Oh, I know what she said. I’m still not drinking it.”

 

“But Mistress Anna!” Olaf was genuinely concerned. “It’s for the baby!”

 

Kristoff came over and plucked the pouch from Olaf’s spindly hands. “Don’t worry, Olaf, I’ll make sure she takes her medicine,” he smiled fondly down at his wife, chuckling at her muley expression.

 

“Okay, thanks Kristoff,” Olaf gusted out a sigh, relieved. “I better head home. Jerrick gets scared if he’s alone in the dark.”

 

“Awwww, do you hafta?” Sigard whined.

 

“Yeah, I hafta,” Olaf sighed, but then grinned his boyish grin. “But maybe I can come back soon?”

 

“Of course, Olaf, you’re always welcome,” Anna smiled at her old friend. He started to bow, old habits die hard, but stopped himself with a blush and a sheepish grin.

 

“Here, give this to Jerrick,” Sigard handed him one of the stuffed rag dolls Valeria had made for him. “Maybe it’ll help him feel better.”

 

Olaf took the little toy from Sigard and tucked it into his leather satchel. “I think it will. Thanks, Sigard!” He gave Marshmallow one last scratch behind the ears, then he walked up the path towards the village.

 

“Gydda,” Kristoff called out. His fire-haired daughter sheathed her sword and stood up. “Go with Agdarius and fetch some water for your mother’s tea.”

 

“Yes, Poppa,” they replied.

 

“I don’t care what the _bjargrýgr_ says, I am _not_ drinking that woman’s foul brew.” Anna declared acidly.

 

“Of course not, Love. It’s for the baby,” Kristoff replied mildly.

 

Anna crossed her arms over her belly and glared at her husband with a gimlet eye. He smirked at her in return, though he did have the good grace to wrap an arm around her and kiss her nose. And the common sense to send Sigard to fetch the honey.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that evening Valeria and Gydda pulled the blankets and pallets off the airing lines while Agdarius and Sigard restocked the fireplace hod with the seasoned spruce their father kept stacked behind the chicken coop. Having everyone under one roof was a tight fit, but they made it work. The children slept on their own pallets, but more often than not they all ended up on Valeria’s in the middle. Gydda and Agdarius might quarrel throughout the day, but at night they tended to sleep in a tangled mess of limbs, often with Sigard or even Marshmallow sprawled over them. That night Marshmallow curled up on the braided rug near the door, sensing the need to guard his family. Kristoff covered his pile of children with a thin blanket and blew out the tallow candle before padding over to his own blankets.

 

Anna was already there, sitting up on his side of the pallet (of course), cradling a clay cup of the midwife’s tea and staring into the glowing embers of the dying fire. Kristoff sat down beside her and nuzzled at her loosely-braided hair. “What’s on your mind, Love?”

 

“The Ingvarssons,” Anna sighed. “And the Halvorssens were attacked a few days ago as well, from what Olaf said. Their farmstead isn’t far from us either.”

 

“Worried we may be next?”

 

“It isn’t anything we can’t handle.”

 

“True,” Kristoff draped a burly arm along her shoulders and pulled her close. “Sven mentioned the Mitrød’s were attacked last week. And the Årud’s farmstead on the other side of the village as well.”

 

“It’s like they’re looking for something,” Anna muttered, setting her cup down and leaning into her husband’s embrace.

 

“What do you mean, Aeris?”

 

“Only farmsteads are being hit, not the village, and only the ones with families. Old Jorvik’s place is right between the Mitrød’s and the Årud’s, and he wasn’t attacked. Hell, you can’t _get_ to the Mitrød’s farmstead without passing through Jorvik’s gateyard. These raiders are looking for something.”

 

“Plunder?”

 

“Maybe. But why deliberately skip potential targets?”

 

“Good point,” Kristoff mused. “Thralls?”

 

“Again, why skip… wait…” Anna frowned. “Who was taken, besides the Ingvarssons?”

 

“Marit and her mother from the Mitrød’s. Nobody from the Årud’s, though, or the Halvorssen’s. Alfhilde and Signe and their daughters from the Hagebak’s last moon.”

 

Anna frowned, “All women?”

 

“Women are more valuable as thralls, but you’re right. Why only women?”

 

Anna looked down, lost in thought. Kristoff brushed a loose tendril of coppery hair across her forehead and tucked it behind her ear so he could more easily kiss her cheek. Anna gasped, but it had nothing to do with his caress. “The women! Kristoff, it isn’t just that they’re women!”

 

Kristoff frowned, puzzled, but then his eyes widened with dawning recognition. “Marit, Alfhilde, Signe…”

 

“Thyra, Inger, even old Ylva,” Anna continued. “They all have red hair! That must be it! They took Marit and her mother, but not her sisters Jorunn or Helka, who have blonde hair. Three generations of women live at the Årud’s, but none were taken because they all have dark hair. And all the women at the Halvorssen’s have blonde or brown hair.”

 

“But why take only women with red hair?”

 

“That’s a very good question,” Anna murmured.

 

“They ignore the village and bypass farmsteads without families, and they take only women with red hair,” Kristoff looked down at his wife, his eyes widening with dawning horror. “They’re looking for you!” he exclaimed, arms tightening around her.

 

“What?” she scoffed. “Kristoff, no! They attacked us too, remember? And I wasn’t taken.”

 

“Because we killed them before they got the chance,” he pointed out. “And they didn’t start taking thralls until after they attacked us.”

 

“Well, if they try again I’ll be happy to send more of them to Tartarus in pieces,” she muttered grimly.

 

Kristoff practically wrapped himself around his wife, one hand tucking her head under his chin while the other curved protectively over her swollen belly. “Kristoff!” Anna grumbled, wriggling in his hold so she could reach up and grab his face and look him in the eye. “Kristoff, I’m right here.”

 

He cradled her face in his trembling palms. “Anna,” he all but whimpered.

 

“We’ll go to the village tomorrow, talk to Pabbie. See if there’s any news.” She stroked his face, soothing her warm fingers over his brow, his cheeks. “I don’t know why they’d be looking for me, but if they are, we’ll make sure they don’t live long enough to regret it.”

 

Kristoff closed his eyes and nodded. He swallowed down the rising tide of fear, but he couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that settled deep in his gut. Anna leaned up to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips before resting her brow against his. His breathing calmed, but his hold on her never wavered. She let him pull her close, let him curl protectively around her as they settled back into their blankets. “I’m right here, my Love,” she whispered. His arms were warm around her, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her ear. Sleep came quickly for her, but eluded him for most of the night.


	4. Chapter 3: Of Wolves and Sheep

The day dawned clear and cool, the summer sun bright on the southeastern horizon. Kristoff and the children tended to the morning chores while Anna packed a reed hamper with dried cod, cloudberries, and loaves of barley bread. Plus a few raspberries for herself, of course.

 

She stood back and stretched, one hand massaging a kink in her back while the other rubbed her belly. “Four more moons, little one,” she murmured with a small smile.

 

She was tired, more tired than she was willing to admit, but not nearly as tired as her husband likely was that day. Kristoff had awoken in the middle of the night last night, sweat-drenched and panicked, breathing hard yet trying not to wake anyone. Anna had said nothing; she had simply reached up and pulled him down to her, tucked his head beneath her chin, and carded her fingers through his shaggy blond hair. He had held her close, burrowed into her warmth, and let the slow, steady drum of her heartbeat soothe him back to sleep. Marshmallow had perked up and glanced at them, sniffed the air for threats, then set his muzzle back down on his crossed feet.

 

She wished she could do more to ease his mind. Their trip to the village today would help, she hoped. She slipped her _siccae_ into their sheathes, grabbed the hamper, and closed the door behind her. Marshmallow sat up as she walked into the gateyard, and she scratched his ears. “Keep an eye on things while we’re gone. We’ll be back by sunset.”

 

The children sensed their parents’ somber moods, so they toned down their usual shenanigans on their walk to the village. Kristoff told Valeria and Gydda to walk in the rear while he took point, with Anna and the boys in the middle. Anna crossed her arms over her belly and gave him a flat look which he returned impassively, not even remotely sorry. She snorted, but she did make sure her hood concealed her hair and had all four children do the same. It was easier to have Valeria and Sigard cover their blond locks than listen to Gydda and Agdarius grouse about it. Once she was satisfied she returned to her very important conversation with her boys, reminding them of the absolute dire importance of their task that day: to find her more raspberries.

 

“Will you share this time, Momma?” Sigard asked.

 

“If you bring me enough, I will.”

 

Agdarius looked skeptical, “How much is enough?”

 

“Hmm,” Anna tapped her lip thoughtfully. “I’d say take whatever you both think is enough, and then double it. That might be enough.”

 

“ _Double_?” both boys squawked.

 

“I’d triple it, to be on the safe side,” Kristoff called back over his shoulder.

 

“Your father is a wise man,” Anna grinned.

 

* * *

 

An hour or so later the little family made it to the village. Without incident, a fact Anna couldn’t help but smirk pointedly at Kristoff about. He just shrugged, used to her sharp looks. Suqi was outside her home, teaching Sigrun how to fletch arrows. Sigard ran forward, eager to see his best friend. Anna walked over and clasped arms with her friend.

 

“What brings you to the village?” Suqi inquired.

 

“We need to see Pabbie,” Kristoff replied. “Is he here?”

 

“He’s resting, last I saw. Sven and Olaf took him some herbs earlier this morning.”

 

“Resting?” Anna frowned. “Can the children stay here then?”

 

“Of course,” Suqi grinned. “They can help make arrows.”

 

“Keep your hoods up,” Kristoff told them firmly.

 

Suqi squinted in confusion. Anna laid a hand on her arm and whispered, “We’ll explain later.”

 

Kristoff and Anna walked the short distance across the Green to Pabbie’s modest home and ducked under the low door. Pabbie wasn’t a tall man, and it wasn’t a large house. He lived alone, having lost most of his family in the Roman invasion more than two decades before. But his home didn’t lack for a woman’s touch. It was sparse, but tidy, with tools hanging from hooks driven into the walls and a bowl of cut flowers on the worktable.

 

Pabbie himself sat beside his fire, a cup of warmed _mjød_ in his gnarled hands. “Kristoff, Aeris,” he grunted, setting his cup aside to stand and greet them. He clasped arms with both, since both were warriors. And he let Anna hug him, failing to hide the smile it brought to his old face.

 

“Any news, Pabbie?” Kristoff asked.

 

“I assume you’ve heard about the Ingvarssons.”

 

“Aye,” Kristoff grumbled. “Olaf told us about them, and the Halvorssens as well. Has anyone successfully captured one of the raiders yet?”

 

“No. Why do you ask?”

 

“We think they’re looking for someone,” Anna replied.

 

“I think they’re looking for _you_ , Aeris,” Kristoff corrected.

 

“Kristoff,” she began crossly, but held her tongue when Pabbie raised a hand to silence them. He didn’t appear surprised by the theory, but little surprised the old man. He gazed thoughtfully at Anna for several moments. He opened his mouth to speak, but a rumble of noise outside caught his curiosity.

 

Olaf stumbled into the house, wide-eyed. “Raiders!” he gasped.

 

All three shot up to rush outside, but both men turned to hold Anna back. “Stay here, Aeris.” Kristoff ordered.

 

She sputtered indignantly, “I will not--"

 

“Stay, Aeris,” Pabbie murmured. “If they _are_ looking for you, it’s best to observe from the shadows.”

 

Anna grimaced, but bowed to his wisdom. “ _Sicut temporibus veteris_ ,” she muttered in Latin, crossing her arms with a sullen frown. Kristoff smiled softly at her, then turned to follow Pabbie out. Olaf hovered near Anna, who drew the hood of her tunic back up to conceal her face and hair as she stood in the doorway to listen.

 

Outside, villagers surrounded the Green, men and women alike, and all with hands on their weapons. Anna watched Pabbie and Kristoff work their way to the front, where six armed men stood in the center, the morning sun at their backs, their arms resting close to the weapons at their sides.

 

The strangers were all tall and bearded, wearing leathers that marked them as from the Northlands, but not anywhere nearby. Despite their familiar garb, the villagers knew who they were looking at: Raiders. One held a cluster of black and white feathers aloft, signaling a request to parley.

 

“I demand to speak with your Jarl,” the man in the center spoke, his voice harsh. “I have business.”

 

“Your demands mean nothing, Raider!”

 

“Who dares speak?” the dark-haired leader growled, looking about. “Are you the Jarl?”

 

“I am the _lækningar_.” Sven stepped forward and crossed his burly arms over his broad chest.

 

“Our business is own,” Kristoff stepped up beside Sven, his hand on the axe hanging from a loop on his belt, “and not for the likes of you or yours.”

 

The leader glared at the two large men in his path. “Friends,” he bellowed to the crowd, switching tactics. “I bring dire news. One of our most hated mortal enemies hides among us.”

 

“You attack our farms, kill our children and enthrall our Kinswomen,” Kristoff rumbled. “You have an odd way of displaying friendship.”

 

The Raider ignored him. “A Roman!” he shouted.

 

Kristoff’s blood ran cold.

 

A murmur ran through the crowd, but they kept their focus on the six Raiders on the Green. “That’s right, a filthy Roman in our midst! A foul _ormstunga_ ready to betray us again as they did before.”

 

The leader gazed about the crowd. Kristoff did as well, and saw more than a few eyes fill with doubt, with fear. “Yes! I knew this revelation would disturb you as much as it does us. It’s an offense to the gods, this Roman _argr_ hiding among our people, but my _Væringjar_ and I are sworn to find her and end her!”

 

“There are no Romans here, Harak,” Pabbie said, his soft voice carrying over the murmurs of the gathered villagers. “And even if there were, they aren’t the ones killing us.”

 

The leader, Harak, whipped around and glared at Pabbie. “Yes, I know you, Harak,” Pabbie continued. “I knew your parents, too, before they were killed by the Romans. You hatred is understandable, but your story is not unique. But unlike you, the rest of us have made our peace and moved on.”

 

“How can you possibly move on when they slaughtered our kin? How can you make peace when a wolf hides in our midst?” Harak demanded.

 

“Simple. We are not sheep.”

 

Harak frowned. “No matter. I have come to free our land from their filth, and for revenge.”

 

“Perhaps,” Pabbie grumbled. “Or perhaps it isn’t revenge you seek, but redemption.”

 

Harak jerked upright as if he was slapped.

 

“Yes,” Pabbie crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me, Raider, why is it that you lived when everyone else your age was slaughtered or captured? If only the very old or very young were left, how is it that you, a grown man twenty years ago, survived? Where were you when our people were dying, Harak? Were you drunk and passed out in some dwarven cave, or playing _sansorðinn_ with one of your father’s thralls, or perhaps you aided the Romans and they spared you in return?”

 

Harak’s face turned blood red under the barrage of insults. He drew his sword with a snarl and took two steps toward Pabbie.

 

“And now you bare steel under your own request to parley, just as the Romans did long ago.” Pabbie dropped his hands to his axe belt, and did not move.

 

Harak stopped dead in his tracks, quivering with rage. “I _will_ have my revenge, old man! Even if I have to kill every last person in this gods-forsaken village, I will find the Roman you are hiding, and I _will_ end her and anyone who aids her!”

 

He slammed his sword back into its sheath, then turned on his heel and stalked away, his _Væringjar_ falling in behind him. The villagers parted to let him go, stone-faced and wary. They could have ended their troubles right then and there; they outnumbered him and his men at least ten-to-one, but they would not be the ones to break Parley.

 

Once the Raiders left the village and were out of sight, the gathered villagers exploded with curious questions and fearful comments. “Who was that Raider?”

 

“How does Pabbie know him?”

 

“Pabbie knows everyone.”

 

“How many more of us have to die before he finds his Roman?”

 

“What was he going on about anyway? What Roman? There are no Romans here.”

 

“Yes there are. Olaf and Aeris are Romans.”

 

“No they’re not, they’re our friends.”

 

“Doesn’t mean they’re not Roman.”

 

“Yes it does.”

 

Suqi walked up to the Green with the children in tow, all with their hoods up to conceal their faces. Kristoff watched as Sven hurried over to talk with her, then turned to rush back to Pabbie’s.

 

Anna stood in the doorframe, arms crossed and face averted, listening to the frantic conversation of the villagers. Kristoff enveloped her in a fierce hug and rested his cheek against her hooded head. _I was right, the raiders_ are _hunting for her_! and the mere thought of that made his gut twist. Anna usually relaxed in his embrace, but this time she was rigid and unyielding. He leaned back enough to catch her face, still etched with a subtle pain.

 

A thick finger traced her jaw and tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “This isn’t your fault,” he declared.

 

“I know,” she sighed, but she didn’t sound convinced. “But it wouldn’t be happening if I weren’t here.”

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Aeris,” Pabbie disagreed. “Tales of Harak’s exploits have lurked about for years. He’s been a particularly brutal raider for far longer than you’ve lived among us.”

 

“Perhaps,” Anna murmured. “Still, maybe I should go.”

 

“Wait, what?” Kristoff exclaimed. “Aeris, No!!”

 

“People are in danger because of me. Our friends are dying…”

 

Kristoff grasped her arms. “That is NOT your fault, Aeris, and you know it.”

 

“Kristoff’s right, you leaving would change nothing.” Pabbie stumped up to her and looked her in the eye, something that after twelve winters still gave her pause. “Besides, it isn’t right to ask one of our own to shoulder such a heavy burden alone,” he murmured, a knowing look glittering in his dark eyes.

 

Anna’s cheeks colored with the faintest of blushes, but she smiled and nodded at the elder.

 

“I need to speak to our people. Stay here for now,” Pabbie ordered. “I’ll have Sven and Suqi bring your children over. Meet us in the _Langhus_ in an hour.”

 

Kristoff nodded. Anna did too, eventually.

 

* * *

 

“This is _really_ frustrating,” Anna groused, pinching the bridge of her nose. Kristoff squeezed her arms comfortingly, then walked across Pabbie’s common room to ladle some water into a small cup for her. She took it with a nod of thanks.

 

Kristoff paced back and forth while Anna was lost in thought. He had to move, otherwise he knew he would smother his wife with clingy, frantic hugs that had nothing to do with assuaging her guilt and everything to do with his own bone-deep fear.

 

“You know, I wish I hadn’t talked Elsa out of recapturing you,” Anna grumbled. “Then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

 

Kristoff immediately stopped pacing, surprised. “Wait, _what_?”

 

“My sister wanted to send the legions after you. She said I was being, and I quote, ‘ _una dolor imperium in asinum_.’”

 

“You never told me that before,” Kristoff breathed.

 

Anna’s lip twitched up in a self-deprecating half-smile. “I guess I was a little mopey for a few months after you left. Elsa offered to fetch you for me. Insisted, actually, but I wouldn’t let her do it. Your freedom and returning home were more important. We fought for almost a month about it, but I wouldn’t budge,” Anna shook her head ruefully. “Now I’m starting to regret my stubbornness.”

 

Kristoff stared at her intently, face unreadable. Then he strode over to her and kissed her hard on the mouth. She stumbled back, surprised by the sudden onslaught. But his mouth never left hers, even when she ran into the wall and grabbed onto him, responding in kind. It was several long, scorching moments before he broke for air, resting his forehead against hers, panting between the shorter kisses he continued giving her.

 

They both felt a sharp twitch between them. “Hush, little one, Poppa’s busy,” he stroked his palm over her belly, and Anna smiled as she threaded her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him back down to kiss him some more. Her other hand found its way over on top of his, and the baby kicked them both again.

 

They both chuckled. “This one may be more stubborn than Gydda,” Anna grinned.

 

“Hmm,” he grinned down at her in return, kissing her nose, “so only half as stubborn as you, then?” She swatted his arm, and he laughed a warm, rich laugh that wrapped around them and banished his fears, if only for a moment.

 

* * *

 

“Did my plan work, m’Lord?” Calder asked.

 

“We’ll know in a moment.” Harak turned and addressed his returning _Væringjar_ , “Did you find her?”

 

Most shook their heads no. Borg scuffed his boots and mumbled, “Maybe, m’Lord.”

 

“Maybe?” Harak uttered, low and ominous.

 

“Well, I did see a woman that might have been her, m’Lord. She had her hood up, but I saw red braids, I swear!”

 

“Then why did you say ‘maybe?’”

 

“She looked too young, even with a foreign sword strapped to her back.”

 

“Foreign… sword…” Harak stalked over to the quivering Borg and loomed over him. “You will find this young would-be shieldmaiden and you will bring her to me alive,” he growled. “Or I will send your miserable soul to Valhalla on the wings of a blood eagle and you can see if _maybe_ the gods will let your worthless carcass in!”


	5. Chapter 4: Pride Goeth

“These Raiders are dangerous,” Pabbie’s gravelly voice echoed through the _langhus_. “Do not be swayed by their false promises. They fail to see that they’re doing exactly what the Romans did to us all those years ago.”

 

Anna sat in her spot beside Kristoff, their children clustered closely about them. She was unusually quiet during the meeting, and didn’t even object to Kristoff’s arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

 

“What do we do, Pabbie?” a villager called out, concerned.

 

“What we always do: we fight back,” Pabble replied. “When they attack, do not drive them off or attempt to capture them. Put them down like the rabid dogs they are.”

 

“Are there no other options?” the Tanner asked, pointedly looking at Anna. Kristoff pulled her closer, growling low in his throat.

 

“No,” Pabbie boomed, and the Tanner cringed at his unusual fervor. “Harak means to break your resolve with his honeyed lies. His words and deeds prove he and his men have no honor, and I will _not_ let them take any more of our own.”

 

There were many angry murmurs of agreement to that bold statement.

 

The villagers rose, eager to return to their homes and farmsteads before dusk. As they left the _langhus_ their silent, calculating looks felt like fire on Kristoff’s back. While no one outwardly blamed Anna for the attacks, that niggling worm of doubt ate at their minds: if she wasn't there, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Kristoff helped her to stand and returned the stares with stony glares of his own, though inwardly he seethed. He knew that while she may not blame herself, she still felt responsible for the attacks, and it was yet another thing he could not protect her from. He felt like he was back in the arena, surrounded and outnumbered and unable to find the right path to get them out.

 

Olaf scurried over to them, his dark eyes wide with worry. “You wanted to see me before you go, Mistress Anna?”

 

Anna looked up at Kristoff and gave him a small, wan smile. He kissed her temple, then shepherded their children outside.

 

“Yes, Olaf, thank you. I’m concerned about your safety.”

 

“Because of what that Raider said?”

 

“Yes,” Anna sighed.

 

“I don’t understand,” Olaf scuffed his boot along the ground, kicking a small pebble towards the fire pit. “Why does he hate you? You didn’t do anything to him.”

 

“He hates our people because the Legions attacked here over twenty winters ago.”

 

“Me too?” Olaf asked, and Anna nodded sadly. He looked down, thinking hard. “The children too?!”

 

“If the Raiders knew the children were mine, yes.”

 

“But why? They’re just children!” he cried. “And we didn’t attack with the legions, I wasn’t even _born_ yet back then, and you were just a kid! Why does he want to kill us?”

 

“He hates Romans. I’m guessing he blames us for everything bad that’s ever happened in his life,” Anna shrugged. “Hatred is rarely logical.”

 

“But our friends here in the village don’t hate us,” Olaf frowned. Then he looked up, eyes wide and worried. “Do they?”

 

“No Olaf, they don’t hate us. At least not yet they don’t.”

 

“What do you mean?” Olaf squeaked.

 

“This Harak and his men are capturing and killing our friends. And he told them they’d stop if they gave me up. Some villagers may consider it a fair trade.”

 

“No! No, they wouldn’t,” Olaf gasped. “They’re good people! They’d never do that to you!”

 

“You’re right, Olaf, they are good people,” she walked slowly to the _Langhus’s_ low door and stood in the frame, looking out. “They’ve been kind and generous to us, and welcomed us into their families. But what if the villagers decide we’re not worth it anymore?”

 

“They won’t, Mistress Anna. I know it! They just won’t.”

 

“I hope you’re right, Olaf,” Anna sighed, looking around the Green, at the people whom she’s called family for over a decade. People who now looked at her with questions in their eyes. “I hope you’re right.”

 

* * *

 

Their walk home was beyond tense. Kristoff had them positioned and spread out again, though all four children gravitated to their mother. Anna blinked and shoved her sadness aside when Sigard’s little hand found its way into hers. “Sorry we couldn’t get you any raspberries, Momma,” he mumbled.

 

“You don't have to apologize, Sigard.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re all safe, and that’s far more important than raspberries.”

 

“Momma?” Gydda stepped closer. “Were those bad men why we have to wear our hoods?”

 

“You’re very observant, Gydda,” Anna praised her, draping her arm around her bony shoulders, pulling her close. “Yes, love, they are. And the less they see of us, the better.”

 

“But why us?”

 

Anna looked up at the sky, hoping to find answers in the fading light. “Some people can be incredibly cruel. And for those who survive or are left behind, for some of them anyway, it’s easier to hate than to let go. They care more for vengeance than their own lives or loved ones,” Anna sighed. “What they fail to realize is that their hatred spurs them to commit acts of cruelty just as vile as the ones they suffered. It’s a cycle that’s not easy to break.”

 

“Like when Agdarius and I keep swiping each other’s stuff, and you and Poppa make us tend the flock together until we can be nice to each other again?”

 

Anna smiled at her youngest daughter, “Something like that, yes.”

 

“Maybe you and Poppa should make the Raiders tend the goats then,” Sigard suggested.

 

“Maybe we should,” Anna grinned.

 

“What’s a Roman, Momma?” Agdarius asked curiously.

 

“Rome’s an empire across the water, far to the south from here. It’s where I come from, where your Aunt Elsa rules.”

 

“Are we Roman too, Momma?”

 

“Yes, and you are also Norse like your father. You all were born and raised here in the Northlands.”

 

Valeria looked confused. “Is Rome bad?”

 

“Are you trying to figure out why those bad men hate us?”

 

Valeria nodded, and Anna smiled at her eldest. “You’re very wise to confront ignorance with understanding, snowflake. No, Rome isn’t bad. It’s filled with people, and no matter where you are in the world, there will be good people and there will be bad people.”

 

“But why do the Raiders hate Romans so much?”

 

Anna drew a breath and let it out slowly. “The Roman Legions invaded twenty winters ago. They attacked and killed many people, and captured many more. Your Poppa and your Uncle Sven were captured when they were about your age, and they were taken from their families to Rome to live as thralls.”

 

“That’s awful!” Valeria gasped.

 

“Yes,” Anna nodded sadly. “They earned their freedom after ten winters as slaves, and returned home here to the Northlands. They found their people again, and rejoined the village.”

 

“But Poppa and Uncle Sven don’t hate Romans,” Valeria pointed out.

 

“No, they don’t,” Anna smiled. “They have every reason to, but chose not to let hatred ruin their lives.”

 

Anna glanced up at her husband, who walked ahead of them with his _gladius_ drawn. “These Raiders are after us, but they haven’t found us except that one time, and they don’t know who or what we are. Your Poppa and I will make sure it stays that way. We trained you to defend yourselves and each other. Don’t worry. If they come again, we’ll be ready.”

 

Gydda nodded resolutely, as did Agdarius. Valeria’s brows were still drawn, still pondering the puzzle before her. Sigard held on tighter to his mother’s hand.

 

They crested the last rise and joined Kristoff on the rocky outcrop overlooking their farmstead. After looking down at it for several minutes, the goats calmly cropping grass in their pen, Marshmallow asleep in the gateyard, he sent the children down to work on the last of the day’s chores. Anna moved to join them, but stopped short when Kristoff grasped her hand.

 

The sun sat low on the horizon. It was late, though it never got fully dark this time of year. From their vantage point they could see far in every direction, even in the fading light. That dark-haired _mentula_ Harak unnerved her worse than she cared to admit, so she was extra vigilant in her watch.

 

He unnerved Kristoff as well, so much so that she watched him almost as much as she watched for threats. He kept watch too, though his gaze lingered on her. Several times he opened his mouth to speak, but shook his head and turned back to his vigil, only to stop a few moments later to stare down at her again.

 

She squeezed his hand and waited. She knew he’d speak once he was ready, and she knew she wouldn’t like what he had to say.

 

“We should move to the village,” he finally said. “We’d be safer there.”

 

Damn, she hated it when she was right. “Foolishness,” Anna muttered.

 

“No it’s not, Aeris,” Kristoff snapped, and Anna stared up at him incredulously. “We’re not safe out here.”

 

“We’re safer out here than cooped up in the village, Kristoff,” Anna said crossly. “The raiders haven’t attacked here in well over a month. They don’t know we’re here.”

 

“They’ll find us soon enough, and then what? We’re isolated and in harm’s way out here.”

 

“And how is moving to the village, a place the Raiders know and have come to already, staying out of harm’s way?”

 

“We’re too vulnerable out here in the open.”

 

“And being trapped in the village ruins our ability to hear them coming. What’s worse, it limits our ability to react.”

 

“We’d have more eyes to watch, and more weapons to bring to bear.”

 

“More innocents to put in harm’s way. More side-eyed glances. More people questioning if we’re worth the blood price,” Anna pulled her hand from his and crossed her arms over her belly with a frown. “No, I won’t put up with that from those who claim to be our friends.”

 

“Now who’s being foolish?”

 

“Ex _cuse_ me?!”

 

“You promised you wouldn’t put the children at risk over our foolish pride!”

 

She glared at him, hard, “This has nothing to do with me.”

 

“This has _everything_ to do with you!” Kristoff exclaimed, then shook his head. “We’re moving to the village, Aeris.”

 

“Kristoff, this isn’t just your decision to make!”

 

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t protect us all by myself!”

 

“All by _your_ self,” Anna all but growled. “You think you’re the only one here who can fight?”

 

“That’s not what I meant…”

 

“That’s _exactly_ what you meant!” Anna raged. “Just because I am with child doesn’t mean you get to treat me like one!”

 

“You don’t understand…”

 

“You’re right, I don’t!”

 

“Is your pride in your fighting skills worth the risk? You’ve said yourself your balance is off and you’re not as fast when you’re this far along. Why do you still insist on fighting?”

 

Anna flinched, and Kristoff grabbed a fistful of his hair before hiding his eyes behind his palm. “Look, I’m sorry for that, but I can’t… Aeris, I can’t…”

 

“You can’t what? Can’t trust me? Can’t rely on me?

 

“No! Anna, I can’t--“

 

Anna stormed up to him, glaring murderously at him. “What you can’t do, Kristoff, is treat me like a liability! You can’t coddle me and claim it’s for my safety when it has _nothing_ to do with me and everything to do with _you_!”

 

She turned on her heel and stalked down to their farmstead.

 

He watched her go, watched her slash at the tall grass with an angrily-drawn _sica_. The children wisely stayed back as she ripped open the door to their home and slammed it loud enough to echo all the way back up to him.

 

“I can’t lose you, Anna,” he husked out in an anguished whisper. “I can’t…”

 

* * *

 

“This land is poor, m’Lord. The plunder is hardly worth the effort.”

 

Several of the gathered _Væringjar_ muttered their own discontent at the dearth of wealth in this hardscrabble land. They stood respectfully, watching Harak pace back and forth near the fire pit’s smoldering pile of peat.

 

“And the _skreyja_ thralls are just as bad,” a sandy-bearded slab of a warrior added.

 

“Gods, the thralls are even worse than the plunder!” Eirik spat. “They won’t work unless you stand over them with a _knifr_ to a young one’s throat, and you have to beat them unconscious to get them pliant enough for comfort.”

 

Harak stopped pacing and glared at his men. “We’re not here for the plunder, Eirik. Not anymore.”

 

“You may not be here for plunder, m’Lord, but I came for the gold you promised.”

 

“How can you stand there and speak to me of gold when a filthy Roman still draws breath in our lands?!”

 

“Hunting Romans puts no gold in my hands, nor does it gain me thralls to tend my fields or warm my bed furs.”

 

“I can’t believe this,” Harak fumed. “Does your honor not demand the _gaugbrojotr’s_ death?!”

 

“The Romans came and left before my father put me in my mother. My honor cares not for one of their stragglers.”

 

“Unless you think she’d make a good thrall,” sandy-beard threw out.

 

“Ha! I bet an _eldrhærðr_ Roman would taste sweeter than the _kvennalið_ we’ve taken so far!” Eirik laughed.

 

The men laughed too, and failed to notice Harak drawing his long-bladed _seax_. But Calder saw him, saw the cold fury in his eyes, so he scurried over to his master and placed a hand on his swordarm. He whispered in his ear, and Harak’s rage calmed and focused on his underling’s proposed tactic.

 

“Interesting point, Eirik,” he said softly. The men quieted, waiting to hear what else their leader had to say. “We know the Roman is here, so the _fyrðar_ must be very good at hiding things from us. Who knows what other things they are keeping from us?’

 

“Like gold?” Eirik asked, eyes bright.

 

Harak’s grin was positively lascivious.

 

Reinvigorated, his _Væringjar_ laughed and boasted about the glory and wealth they would soon claim. Harak glanced at Calder and nodded, pleased his advice worked.

 

The old man bowed his head to hide his smile.

 

* * *

 

Kristoff shut the door behind him and looked around for his wife, the banked coals of the fire doing little to illuminate the small cottage. He found her curled up on their pallet, her back to the room, all the way up against the wall. He sighed. If she wasn’t on his side of the pallet she was obviously still furious with him.

 

He stripped out of his leathers and climbed under the furs with her, wrapping an arm around her swollen waist. She pushed back against him, but he wouldn’t let go. “What are you doing?” she growled.

 

“Hugging my wife before I try to get some sleep.”

 

“Leave me alone!”

 

“No.”

 

“Kristoff!”

 

“No, Anna,” he said firmly.

 

She pushed and shoved against his hold. “Dammit, Kristoff, let me _go_!”

 

“I will in a moment.”

 

“Why are you doing this?!”

 

“My mother told me a very long time ago to never go to bed mad,” he murmured.

 

“Your mother didn’t have a hard-nosed _asinus_ for a husband.”

 

“And my father didn’t have a stubborn fool for a wife.”

 

“ _Mentula_!”

 

“I love you too, _lodinkinni_.”

 

“Dammit, Kristoff!” she wriggled and squirmed in his hold until she managed to turn over and face him. She froze when she caught sight of him, his face equal parts somber and scared, but the set of his jaw spoke of grim determination. “Why are you doing this?” she asked again, her voice catching.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll go sleep under the other roof and leave you in peace.”

 

And he would, too, damn him. He would sacrifice his own comfort and happiness for her. He would accept her anger if it kept her safe. Not because he didn’t trust her or her abilities, but because he was scared. Scared of her being targeted, scared of her being hurt, or worse. It was a piss-poor reaction, but she understood. Hell, she’d made several piss-poor decisions in the last month herself, since the Raiders started attacking their home and threatening their lives.

 

This wouldn’t be one of them.

 

She grabbed two fistfuls of blond hair and pulled him down into a scorching kiss. He froze, clearly not expecting it, but he eagerly responded to her passion with his own. His arms flexed as he pulled her warm body tight against his own.

 

She only broke the kiss when its fire burned through all of their air. “I’m still mad,” she whispered across his parted lips.

 

“I know.” He blazed a trail of kisses along her jaw, down her neck, detouring to savor every spot he knew she loved.

 

“You’re, hmmm, you’re still being a- _ah_! a damned fool,” she panted, clutching his broad shoulders with desperate, demanding fingertips.

 

“Likely.” His hands joined his lips in caressing her, teasing her, sending ripples of blinding heat cascading along every nerve.

 

“I, unh, still think we ah, think we should, oh gods…”

 

He moved back up so he could cradle her jaw and capture her storm-dark eyes with his. “You really want to discuss this now?”

 

She cupped his bearded jaw and sealed her mouth over his.


	6. Chapter 5: Before The Fall

Anna awoke early the next morning, surprisingly well-rested. She stretched, feeling the satisfied burn of achy muscles after a deep sleep. Kristoff was always very… thorough after one of their arguments. He also made it damned hard to stay angry, especially when after they were sweaty and sated he rested his palm on her belly and crooned a lullaby to both her and their unborn child. The stubborn fool fought dirty.

 

She reluctantly eased out of her husband’s warm embrace. She was still a bit angry, but she couldn’t help but smile down at him, sleep-rumpled and at peace. Times like this he looked more boyish than Sigard. “I wish I could do more to ease your mind, Love,” she whispered. She tucked a lock of his shaggy blond hair behind his ear, and traced her fingers along his bearded jaw, down his neck, and along the woven paths of the inked _manica_ on his bare shoulder. He leaned into her touch, mumbling in his sleep.

 

She dressed and walked to the other roof to check on the children, who were also just starting to rise. She stirred up the banked coals and put more wood on the fire.

 

“Good morning, Momma,” Valeria yawned.

 

“Are you still mad, Momma?” Gydda asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“Cause we’re out of raspberries,” Agdarius remarked.

 

“I’ll live,” Anna grimaced, then smiled. “Come on now, up with you all. It’s past dawn, and we have chores to get to. Valeria, you and Sigard go tend the chickens and bring back the eggs for breakfast. Gydda and Agdarius, go fetch a ham from the cooling shed and more firewood. Take Marshmallow with you.”

 

“Marshmallow?” Gydda canted her head, confused. “Why?”

 

“Nobody goes outside alone anymore, and nobody goes anywhere without their weapons,” Anna told them firmly. “Call out if you see anything or anyone.”

 

“Is it that bad?” Valeria asked, concerned.

 

“I hope not,” Anna sighed, smiling at her eldest. “But it’s best to be prepared.”

 

The children quickly dressed and did as they were told. It broke Anna’s heart to see them so carefully strap their weapons to their little bodies. Granted, she was a good year younger than Sigard’s six winters the first time she used a blade to defend her sister, but that was Rome. The Frozen Northlands were more primitive and rugged than Rome, but there was a sense of peace here. A peace that seemed to wither and die with the donning of their blades.

 

No, it wasn’t their actions; it was what the Raiders brought to them that slayed that sense of innocence.

 

Anna put the kettle on the fire to boil and fetched the cut oats and salt. She was shaping dough into loaves when Agdarius hollered from the gateyard. “Momma!” Anna’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of one of her _siccae_ , but she let go when he yelled, “Olaf’s here!”

 

Anna wiped her hands on a rag and walked over to the door. Olaf was indeed there, and hurrying up to her without stopping to greet the kids or even pet Marshmallow. “Man, am I out of shape!” he wheezed.

 

“Olaf? What’s wrong?”

 

The little man was bent over, hands braced on his knees, panting for breath. “Raiders. Attacked a bunch of farmsteads last night.”

 

“Kristoff!” Anna called out for her husband. “Sigard, fetch Olaf some water. Valeria, go wake your father.

 

“I’m here,” Kristoff rumbled, walking barefoot and bare-chested into the gateyard with his _gladius_ in hand. “What’s happened?”

 

“Those Raiders attacked three farmsteads on the other side of the village. Sven’s been up all night with the wounded. There’s so many people hurt that he ran out of _hvönn_ , and I told him you have some because I brought you some last week. I told him I’d come get it.”

 

“So early?” Anna exclaimed.

 

“Sven wouldn’t send him unless the need was great,” Kristoff pointed out.

 

“True,” Anna agreed. “I’ll go fetch it.”

 

“Tell me what happened, Olaf,” Kristoff asked. Anna hurried inside and pulled down the cloth pouch of the dried healing herb. She also grabbed her supply of powdered willow bark and boiled cloths, and placed it all into a small leather satchel. She hurried back outside to find her family clustered about Olaf, who was all but hopping on his feet.

 

“Thanks, Mistress Anna,” he slung the satchel over his shoulder and turned to go.

 

“Wait, you’re going right now?” Sigard cried.

 

“I have to, Sigard. Sven needs this stuff right away.”

 

“By yourself?” Anna protested.

 

“Don’t worry, Mistress Anna. I’m small, and I know all the hidden paths through the forest ‘cause I use them all the time to hunt for herbs. Nobody ever sees me.”

 

“Olaf, it isn’t safe,” Anna frowned.

 

“I’ll be ready to go in no time. We’ll head over together,” Kristoff insisted.

 

“Catch up with me. Sven said he needs this sooner than yesterday.” The young man turned to go.

 

“Olaf!” Anna snapped, and he stopped short. She bent down and removed a thin-bladed _pugio_ and its sheath from her boot. “Take this, too. And stay hidden.”

 

“I will, don’t worry,” he smiled, tucking the blade behind his sash and scampering down the path to the village.

 

“You better, my friend,” Anna muttered, rubbing her belly. “I don’t bend down like that these days for just anyone.”

 

* * *

 

Anna closed the door behind her just as her husband’s head popped up out of the neck of his leather tunic. He pushed his hair out of his face and eyed her warily. Anna rolled her eyes and glared at him, arms akimbo. Kristoff chuckled ruefully. “You’re still mad at me.”

 

“And you’re still hell-bent on moving us to the village.”

 

Kristoff had nothing to say to that, so he grabbed his sash. Anna walked up to him and helped him tie it about his waist. “We need to go catch up to Olaf.”

 

“We?”

 

“Yes, we. You said it yourself it isn’t safe to go alone. The rest of us are already dressed and armed, we’ll leave when you’re ready. We can catch up to Olaf in no time. Plus, we can give Sven a hand with the wounded before heading back home.”

 

“Or we could just stay there.”

 

Anna jerked his sash knot tight and gave him a flat look. “We’ll have plenty of time when we get back to argue some more.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “And make up some more.”

 

He wrapped his arms around his wife and buried his nose in her braided hair. He let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding when he felt her arms settle around his waist. “I’m holding you to that,” he murmured.

 

“You always do.”

 

His hands rubbed up and down her back, then drifted up to cradle her jaw and tilt her face up to his kiss. He nuzzled her nose with his own, and smiled when their little one kicked. Anna’s glare lacked its usual bite due to her own upturned lips. “Will you two stop ganging up on me?” she pouted.

 

Kristoff laughed, giving her one last hug before gathering his weapons.

 

* * *

 

Olaf jogged along the wooded game trail as fast as his little legs could carry him. Sven needed these supplies, and he wasn’t going to let his best friend down. Besides, Sven bet him a week’s worth of Suqi’s freshly-baked barley-rye bread he couldn’t return before mid-morning. Sven hadn’t won a bet against Olaf in years. Both were very good reasons to make haste.

 

A flock of ravens exploded out of a nearby tree. Olaf slowed, curious, looking for the source of the disturbance.

 

The slingshot stone cracked against his temple, and he crumpled to the ground without a sound.

 

* * *

 

Kristoff moved into the clearing, _gladius_ drawn and glinting in the midmorning sun, and was spotted by the sentries a good hundred paces away from the village edge. They waved him in, so he waved his family forward. Anna walked calmly out of the woods, straight-backed and eyes alert, with the children close behind her. They never caught Olaf, which worried her. Now that they were in the open she pulled her hood down lower, tucking her coppery braids out of sight. Valeria and Gydda did the same.

 

The Sentry clasped arms with Kristoff. “Any attacks out your way?”

 

“No, thank the Gods. What’s happening over here?”

 

The lanky man grimaced. “It’s bad.”

 

“Pabbie?” Anna inquired.

 

“With the _lækningar_. Sven tends to the wounded, Pabbie to the dying,” the Sentry grimaced again and turned back to his watch.

 

He never clasped arms with Anna.

 

Kristoff opened his mouth to object, but Anna stalked into village, and he and the children had to jog to catch up. “Aeris?”

 

“Let’s just find Olaf,” she grumbled. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

 

Kristoff felt it, too. The whole village was on edge. There were hardly any people about. A faint hum of anger and fear swirled and echoed between each collection of wood and thatch, a miasma that threatened to explode at the merest spark.

 

It was a brisk walk across the Green to Sven’s apothecary, the only building in the village that had people active in and about it. They found Pabbie leaning against the outside wall, head bowed with fatigue. “Pabbie?” Kristoff called out, and the old man raised his tired eyes and actually smiled.

 

“Kristoff. Aeris,” he greeted them, clasping their arms. He nodded to the children, who kept a respectful distance from their elders. “What brings you by?”

 

“We followed Olaf back, to see if we could help,” Anna replied. “How are the wounded?”

 

“Sven’s doing what he can. Followed Olaf, you say? But Olaf hasn’t returned. Sven’s muttering about needing his healing herbs.”

 

“That can’t be right. He left before we did,” Anna worried, placing a hand on her swollen belly. “Obviously he’s faster than we are these days. He should’ve been back by now.”

 

Pabbie frowned. He opened his mouth to reply, but a shout from the edge of the village interrupted him. “Riders!” the sentry hollered. “Two, coming in fast, not bothering to hide.”

 

Sven hurried out of his apothecary. “I heard the sentries. More wounded coming?” he inquired curtly.

 

“It’s the Raiders!” the sentry yelled.

 

Kristoff and Sven ran, Anna, Pabbie, and the children close behind them. Others also ran to the Green, weapons at the ready. A crowd of two score armed and angry villagers reached the center of the Green just as two heavily-armed riders galloped toward them. They pulled up short, their horses pawing at the air before settling back down to the ground. One was a sandy-bearded brute with a wicked half-moon axe on his belt. The other was Harak.

 

Something was definitely not right. Pabbie held his arm up, signaling his people to wait before attacking. “You are not welcome here. Why do you and your _smá-menn_ darken our doorsteps again, Raider?”

 

“You still have something I want,” Harak sneered, not bothering to dismount.

 

Pabbie crossed his arms, unimpressed. “You chase ghosts, Harak, hoping they can restore your lost honor. Begone. You’ll find neither here.”

 

“Oh, but you’re wrong, old man.” Harak grinned ferally. “I knew you and your _ókræsi-legr_ people were hiding the Roman _eldrhærðr_ , but I didn’t expect a full-blown infestation.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Harak gave his companion a curt nod, and the man drew a short-bladed _knifr_ and cut a reindeer-hide bundle loose from behind his saddle. He tossed it to the ground, and it rolled and came apart in the dirt, revealing a mangled corpse.

 

“OLAF!!!” Anna shrieked. She started to run to him, but Kristoff caught her and yanked her in tight against him, shielding her from the Raiders. She wept into his chest, struggling to break free. “Olaf, no…”

 

“Stay hidden,” Kristoff hissed into her ear, but she kept struggling. “Please, Aeris, stay hidden! Protect the children. Please.” Only then did she relax. He hugged her fiercely, then let her go, keeping her concealed behind his back. She pulled her hood back down tight, then gathered her shocked and sobbing children into her arms.

 

Sven stumbled forward, falling to his knees next to the crumpled body of his young friend. He checked for a pulse, hoping against hope, but to no avail. Olaf was bruised and bloodied, with several grossly broken bones and a gaping wound in his abdomen. He did not die easily. “How dare you?” Sven choked out. “He was no warrior. How _dare_ you torture and murder an innocent man?!”

 

“He was no innocent,” Harak spat. “He was Roman filth.”

 

“He was a Roman _slave_!” Sven screamed. “He _left_ Rome and came here to live a free man, and you slaughtered him!”

 

“He was one of them. He carried a Roman blade.”

 

“So do I,” Kristoff growled, stepping forward as he unsheathed his massive _spathea,_ the blade more than twice as long as Harak’s _seax_. “Care to try your filthy excuse for justice again, _hladhǫnd_?”

 

Anna clutched her children tight, keeping them tucked as close to her body as she could. Sigard wept into her side, while Agdarius buried his face in her shoulder. Gydda and Valeria held on tight to her, trembling, crying silently. _The blade. The_ pugio _I gave him…_   She stared bloody murder at Harak, tears falling freely down her concealed face.

 

“Don’t presume to insult me, _vitskertr_.” Harak glowered at Kristoff. “The little Roman wouldn’t talk, so I ran the _kamphundr_ through myself.”

 

“Then I’ll do the same for you!”

 

“You’re welcome to try, but my _Væringjar_ will slaughter your kinswomen if you do!”

 

Kristoff bared his teeth, shifting his balance, poised to strike, but Pabbie placed a stilling hand on his arm. “You killed this youth you called Roman,” The old man glared at the Raider. “Was his blood enough to restore your honor, Harak?”

 

“Hardly,” Harak scoffed. “Bring me the red-haired Roman wench, or I’ll return more of your worthless lambs in pieces!”

 

“You murder innocents and demand we offer up more of our own for you to slaughter,” Pabbie seethed. “I told you and your _huglausi_ _Væringjar_ before, we are not sheep!”

 

“Watch your tongue, old fool! I grow weary of your stubborn obstinance. The Roman, _now_ , and any other of her wretched kind as well, or we burn your village to the ground and salt the earth behind us!”

 

Their horses reared again, and the raiders wheeled and galloped out of the village. Pabbie hurried after them, shouting orders to the sentries and other villagers.

 

Kristoff sheathed his _spathea_ and turned to his little family. His daughters ran to him, weeping. He held them close as an eerily quiet Anna walked up, urging their sons into his embrace as well. His long arms easily wrapped around all of their children.

 

Anna stumbled over and knelt down beside Sven, placing a hand on the shaggy-haired man’s broad shoulder. He looked up into her face, saw his anguish mirrored in her blue eyes, and knew what she was wordlessly asking of him. He handed Olaf to her, and she gathered his little body into her arms as if he were a child. She smoothed his hair back from his bruised and bloodied face, a motherly gesture too little too late. “I shouldn’t have let you go alone. I should’ve kept you close, or sent you back to Rome. I should have… I’ve failed you, my friend. I’m so sorry,” she wept, voice raw and broken as she rocked with his still form in her arms.

 

“He wanted to go. He insisted,” Sven whimpered. “I didn’t stop him. I shouldn’t have let him go.”

 

Kristoff knelt beside his wife, their children clustering around their fallen friend. Sven unclasped his cloak, and Anna gently laid Olaf onto it. She straightened his limbs as best she could, covering the hole in his side with his hands, her own hands trembling. She reached into a pouch at her waist, removed a small copper coin, and placed the _viaticum_ in his mouth. “Charon’s obol,” she whispered sadly. “I may not have saved you on this side of the river, but at least I can help you pay the ferryman.”

 

Pabbie stumped back over to the little gathering. “No more just defending ourselves. No more hoping those _bölvaður_ raiders will lose interest and move on,” he grated. “I’ve sent our best trackers and hunters out to find whatever _ókræsi-legr_ pit their hiding in, and we will send them all to Hel’s embrace.” He sighed, sadly placing a thick hand on Olaf’s forehead in benediction. “I only wish it wasn’t too little too late.”

 

They all gazed down at their friend, grief-stricken. Sven covered Olaf’s face and wrapped his body, tucking the cloak around him as if he were merely asleep. Kristoff lifted it effortlessly, and they all stood with him.

 

“Suqi’s built pyres for the others we lost this day,” Sven sighed, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his bloody hand. “Guess we’ll need a little more wood.”

 

* * *

 

“Did you see them, m’Lord? Both of them?”

 

“Yes, Calder, I saw them.”

 

“You want your _Væringjar_ to attack them right away, yes? Might I suggest a more satisfying and… personal alternative?”

 

“I’m listening…”

 

* * *

 

They walked to the edge of the Green, to the bundles of wood and kindling gathered around a half-dozen wrapped forms. Kristoff knelt and laid his friend down next to the others. Sven muttered a prayer, and several colorful curses, before turning and striding back to his apothecary. Kristoff shepherded his family to the wood and thatch roof next door, where Suqi and Sigrun warily stood in the gateyard. Suqi glanced at Anna’s face and knew something was hideously wrong. “What happened?” she demanded.

 

“Olaf,” Sigard whimpered. “Olaf’s dead!”

 

Suqi’s face crumpled, and Sigrun wailed and clung to her mother. The other children began crying again as well. Kristoff pulled Valeria and Agdarius into his arms, while Anna did the same for Gydda and Sigard. Anna felt her own tears threatening to fall, but was otherwise silent.

 

Inside, though, inside she screamed.

 

Rage and guilt overwhelmed her, gnawing at her mind like rabid wolves. Olaf was her friend. Her responsibility. And she failed him.

 

“Where’s Sven?” Suqi husked out, knowing her husband would be heartbroken.

 

“Nextdoor, with the wounded no doubt,” Kristoff replied.

 

Suqi took a deep breath, then nodded. She knew her husband, knew he’d bury his own pain while others needed his healing. Knew the work would soothe when words would just enflame. “The twins should be waking up shortly. Come. There’s fresh bread and venison stew on the hearth.”

 

Everyone went inside and gathered around the table. Gydda and Agdarius would normally pester each other, but they sat side-by-side, huddled close together. Sigard and Sigrun sat together too, wide-eyed and clinging to each other while Valeria held them close. Suqi put plates of stew and bread in front of everyone, along with wooden cups of cool water. Kristoff ate, splitting his attention between the children and his wife.

 

Anna left her plate untouched and pushed away from the table. She paced back and forth in front of the hearth. Kristoff rose and walked over to stand near her.

 

“I should’ve seen this coming,” she muttered.

 

“How could you?”

 

“Doesn’t matter. It’s my duty. If I fail, people die. I failed.”

 

“Aeris…”

 

“I _failed_ , Kristoff, and Olaf died. I let him go alone. I gave him my _pugio_ , and he’s dead.”

 

He placed his hands on her upper arms, stilling her. “This is true, but it is in no way your fault.”

 

“Kristoff…”

 

“No, Aeris,” he squeezed her arms gently “Avoid distractions. Even the ones inside your own head. Focus.”

 

She nodded, taking a long, shuddering breath. “I… I can’t stay here. I need to do… something.”

 

“I know.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against her forehead. “Go help Sven. It’ll do you both some good.”

 

She jerked her head in a quick nod, and he let her turn and walk away. It hurt, but he knew it was what she needed.

 

* * *

 

Sven had close to a dozen wounded in his apothecary. Four had assorted wounds that, while painful, weren’t threatening their lives. Five he worked feverishly over, struggling to keep death at bay. Two he could do no more for than make them comfortable.

 

Anna fetched clean linens. She ground herbs with a stone mortar. She dribbled water past parched lips bruised and riddled with cuts. She carried word to friends and loved ones who came by for news. She held a little one still while Sven restitched her wounded arm. She wouldn’t stop, even when Sven told her to take it easy. The only way he could get her to rest was to make her tend the fires boiling linen bandages for reuse.

 

So she sat next to an iron cauldron, exhausted, adding bloody bandages to the boiling water. She hung her head, trembling with fatigue and so much more. She barely registered the large stained hand on her shoulder, but she turned and looked into the face of the Tanner. The lanky man handed her a waterskin while his wife, her head wrapped in linen strips Anna tied herself, gave her a cloth-covered bowl. Anna glanced up at them, confused. The Tanner nodded at his wife. “Thank you,” he uttered gruffly through his sheepish half-smile.

 

His wife smiled too, squeezing Anna’s shoulder warmly. “We won’t let the Raiders take another of our own.” The Tanner grunted in grim agreement with his wife.

 

Anna nudged the cloth out of the way and saw the bowl was filled to the brim with bright red raspberries.

 

* * *

 

The sun was low on the horizon when Kristoff and Suqi pulled Anna and Sven out of the apothecary. Three of his charges joined the others awaiting the pyre, but the rest were holding on. It was going to be a long night.

 

But first it was time for the living to pay respects to the dead.

 

Pabbie led the somber procession across the Green. Ten dead, each borne with honor on a litter carried by four close kin. Olaf had no kin by blood, but he did have family to watch over him. Kristoff, Sven, Suqi, and Sigard carried him. Sigard insisted, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Despite his trembling hands, he bore his friend with dignity and fierce determination. Even in the midst of all of the sadness, Kristoff was proud of his son.

 

The litter-bearers set Olaf down on his pyre and backed away slowly. But Sven lingered, placing a fresh loaf of Suqi’s barley-rye bread in the crook of his arm. “You won again, my friend,” he murmured sadly. He walked back to stand beside his wife and children, pulling them close.

 

Pabbie intoned words of comfort and pride, but Anna didn’t hear them. Oloctavianus was her oldest friend here in the Frozen Northlands, her one living connection to her life back in Rome, her one-time traveling companion and gift from her beloved sister, and she failed him. She failed, and he was dead. No amount of logic would soothe her conscience. No amount of vengeance would change that cold, hard fact.

 

The signal was given, and men moved through bundles of wood and kindling, brushing them with pitch-soaked torches. The pyres lit immediately, burned brightly, the flame and smoke ushering the souls of the dead onto their journey to the next world. The villagers stood in vigil, some praying, others singing. As the fires burned low they turned and walked back to their homes. Eventually, the two little families were the only ones left on the Green.

 

Suqi cleared her throat. “It’s too late to risk going home. Stay with us tonight. It’ll be safer to go home in the morning.”

 

“We’ll go only to gather essentials. Our home is too isolated. We’re moving to the village for now.” Kristoff said, his voice low but firm. Suqi nodded in approval. He braced for an argument from his wife, but Anna’s eyes never left the pyre. She also didn’t object when he placed an arm around her shoulder and led her back to Sven’s roof. She was silent when Suqi laid out extra pallets and blankets for them and their children, said nothing when her four and Sigrun collapsed together in an exhausted, tear-stained heap.

 

It wasn’t until the last candle was snuffed and she laid in her husband’s arms that she finally allowed her tears to fall.

 

* * *

 

“Why does Agdarius get to ride on the horse with Sigard and Sigrun?” Gydda pouted.

 

“Because we’re older. We have to guard them,” Valeria explained.

 

“It’s not fair!” Gydda whined.

 

Agdarius grinned impishly from his spot on the mare’s back. “I’ll trade you my spot for your _gladius_ , Gydda,” he offered.

 

“You’re mean!” Gydda stuck her tongue out at him.

 

“Focus,” Kristoff reminded them. While he was glad they were finding their normal fire again after yesterday’s sadness, they still had a job to do. The children straightened and returned their attention to looking for danger.

 

Anna adjusted the woven belt that strapped the infant to her back. “We appreciate you coming to help, and letting us stay with you,” Anna thanked her friend.

 

“Of course, Aeris. Though we should’ve done this weeks ago,” Suqi sniffed, hitching her own carrier higher on her back. Anna frowned, eyes cast down in regret. Suqi squeezed her hand. “What’s done is done. The past is in the past. We need to focus on the now.”

 

Anna sighed, then nodded.

 

It didn’t take long to reach the farmstead. Marshmallow bounded up to greet them, tail wagging. He whined, sensing the somber mood. Sigard slid off the horse to greet his furry friend, and Sigrun followed suit. Kristoff, satisfied everything was in order, took the reins from Agdarius before the boy dismounted as well. “Let’s move quickly. We’ll want to get back as soon as we can.”

 

“Yes, Poppa.”

 

Valeria and Gydda went with Marshmallow to fetch their dark-maned stallion from his paddock, while Kristoff pulled their little two-wheeled cart out of the barn. Anna and Suqi took the other children inside and set to work gathering essentials: clothes, medicines, food, furs, and bundling them up in woolen blankets. Sigard watched the sleeping twins while Sigrun and Agdarius took the tied-off bundles out to the cart.

 

“Momma! Poppa!” Gydda screamed.

 

The adults rushed to her side and looked to where she pointed: to the east, toward the village, where a thick column of smoke stained the sky.

 

“Sven,” Suqi breathed in anguish, then bolted for her horse.

 

“Go. Take Agrippa,” Anna ordered as she hurried over and unlashed the cart from their horse’s saddle.

 

“What?” Kristoff protested. “Aeris, No! I’m not leaving you here!”

 

“Kristoff, you have to!” Anna turned and took his face in her hands. “Suqi needs your help. She’s too worried to keep her wits about her, and if we don’t save the village we’ll have no place to go.”

 

“No,” Kristoff objected. “No, I can’t do this, Anna! This is how we lost Olaf. I can’t lose you, Anna. I can’t!”

 

She soothed her hands along his cheeks, his jaw, and murmured a truth he hated to hear, “We’ll lose Suqi if you don’t.”

 

“Anna, I can’t…” he closed his eyes when she pressed her forehead to his. He knew she was right. He had to go. But he knew he’d regret this decision for the rest of his days. “Where will you go?”

 

“South, to the caves. Nobody knows they’re there, and even if the Raiders _do_ find us there, they’re defensible.”

 

He hugged her tightly, holding her as close to him as he could. She clung to him just as fiercely. He choked on all the words he wanted to say, only managing to husk out “I don’t want to leave you.”

 

“I know,” she soothed.

 

“Tell me it’ll be alright. _Promise_ me it’ll be alright.”

 

“I promise.”

 

“Anna…”

 

She silenced him with a quick, passionate kiss. “Go. We’ll be waiting.”

 

He kissed her one last time, then turned and mounted the dun stallion. Suqi was already on Jorunn, her mare, and the two quickly vanished down the path to the village.

 

* * *

 

“Did it work?”

 

“Yes, m’Lord. They fell for it.”

 

“Good. Bring the Roman and her spawn to me. Alive.”

 

* * *

 

“Can I bring a toy?” Sigard asked.

 

“Poppa said only the important stuff.” Valeria answered.

 

“But it IS important! It’s my favorite!” Sigard argued. “Besides, it’s small.”

 

Valeria huffed out a sigh. “Alright fine, but if you get in trouble you’re NOT blaming me.”

 

“Thanks, Val--" Sigard froze. A loud, vicious bark echoed from outside. “Marshmallow?”

 

The barking continued, louder, until it cut off with a pained yelp. “Marshmallow?!” Sigard whimpered.

 

“Shhh!” Valeria hissed.

 

A heavy fist pounded on the wooden door, shaking the entire roof. Valeria drew her _gladius_ while Gydda shoved Agdarius behind her. Sigard and Sigrun ran and picked up the twins, then hid behind the older girls as well. “What do we do?” Gydda squeaked.

 

“What Momma and Poppa taught us to do,” Valeria replied, putting on a brave front.

 

Gydda swallowed hard, and drew her own _gladius_.

 

Suddenly the crossbar shattered and the door slammed open, and two burly, sinister-looking men burst in, looming over the frightened children.

 

“Well look at what we’ve got here,” the taller of the Raiders grinned.

 

“S-S-Stay back!” Valeria brandished her _gladius_.

 

“Oh, you’re a spirited little tidbit, aren’t you _meyla_? I like’em when they’ve got a bit of fire in ‘em at first.”

 

“Harak wants them alive, Eirik.”

 

“And alive he’ll have them, Jorvik, but he said nothing against a bit of action beforehand,” Eirik smirked, palming his breeches.

 

The sandy-bearded Raider raked his gaze up and down Gydda’s slender frame, licking his lips, ignoring her raised _gladius_. “Aye, that’s true. And this one looks good enough to eat.”

 

“Come here, little morsels,” Eirik leered. “Poppa’s hungry for--" He glanced down in shock at the slender hooked blade curving out of his chest. Blood fountained from his gaping mouth, startling his companion. Jorvik blinked in shock, so he never saw the slashing blade that slit his throat from ear to ear.

 

The children flinched back, whimpering. Both men collapsed to the ground. Behind them, still clutching her second _sica_ , was their mother. Anna placed one bloody finger against her lips, signaling them to stay quiet. She put her boot on Eirik’s back and yanked her first _sica_ free.

 

“Momma?” Valeria whispered.

 

“Hush, snowflake, there are more Raiders outside.” Anna sheathed her _siccae_ and grabbed the woolen blankets from the pallet. “Quickly now, grab your weapons, your fire starters, and your hunting kits.” She ripped the blankets into wide strips, and used them to lash the twins onto Sigard and Sigrun’s backs. “We don’t have much time.”

 

“What do we do, Momma?” Gydda whimpered, trembling.

 

“We go to the caves. The Raiders are too big to fit in the entrance, so we can fend them off until your poppa returns.”

 

“But Momma--"

 

“Shhh!” Anna hissed, holding up a hand for silence. She heard raucous laughter, saw an angry orange glow spiral up out of sight, and heard the telltale crackle of burning thatch. “Run,” she uttered, aghast. “Out the back. Quickly! RUN!” She drew her _gladius_ and bolted for the back door.

 

It was a trap.

 

Two red-bearded men lurked just outside the door, arms spread wide to capture any who tried to escape. Anna snapped her _gladius_ up, severing a pair of outstretched hands. The Raider shrieked and fell, staring at the blood spurting from his ruined stumps. She kicked him away, then pivoted on her back foot and slashed at the second Raider across the eyes just as Valeria smoothly ran him through with her own lunging blade.

 

“Keep running!” Anna shouted. “Don’t look back! Just run!”

 

* * *

 

“Something’s not right,” Kristoff shouted to be heard over the thunder of their horses’ hooves.

 

“You’re right,” Suqi agreed. “That smoke’s too close to be coming from the village.”

 

They topped the next rise and reined in their mounts. Off to the side of the path a wide swath of vegetation smoldered, sending a huge column of thick smoke into the still air.

 

“That’s not natural,” Suqi snarled. “Someone deliberately set this fire and used green boughs to make it smoky. We’ve been set up!”

 

“But why--" Kristoff looked at her, horrified. He knew why. Dammit, he knew _exactly_ why! He twisted in his saddle and looked back towards the fjord, where a thin ribbon of smoke crawled up into the uncaring sky.

 

He yanked the reins, wheeled about, and flew back down the hill at a dead run.

 

* * *

 

The caves were not far, but it was a running battle the entire way. At least a dozen men chased after them as they sprinted along the gravel strand. The children were faster than they looked, but their little legs couldn’t keep them ahead of the long-limbed Raiders for much longer.

 

Anna knew this. She had to buy them more time.

 

 _We should be dead by now_ , she wheezed, clutching her abdomen, struggling to keep up herself. _They must want us alive._ She used that to her advantage. Whenever a Raider would get too close she’d slash with her _gladius_ , aiming for the groin, the throat, or the elbows. Easy, painful targets that would bleed out and slow down pursuit.

 

She deliberately slowed down, weaved back and forth, drawing the Raiders towards her and away from the children. She dropped four before a dark-haired brute with ice-blue eyes knocked her _gladius_ out of her hand. She swept her leg and took him out at the knees, then plunged a quickly-drawn _sica_ into the paunch of his abdomen. It didn’t kill him, but he didn’t get up.

 

Anna did, and she ran.

 

* * *

 

Kristoff froze, staring down in horror at his farmstead. His home. “No…” Both roofs were fully engulfed in flame, the gateyard littered with the mangled remains of goats and chickens. And near the back door, two forms that were too large to be livestock. “No no no…”

 

He galloped down the hill, his heart in his throat. He jumped off Agrippa and raced to the back of the roof. The flames drove him back, but he got close enough to see that the bodies were too big to be anything but Raiders. That was cold comfort, though. “Aeris? Children?!” he screamed. “ _Aeris_?!”

 

“Kristoff!” Suqi called out. He ran around the burning house and found her kneeling down over an injured Marshmallow in the gateyard. The big hound whimpered as she pulled him away from the flames and wrapped his bloodied shoulder with strips torn from her cloak. He gazed up at Kristoff, clearly in pain, then turned to look south, whining.

 

Kristoff looked south, saw another crumpled body out on the strand, and wordlessly ran for his horse. “Good boy,” Suqi ruffled the shaggy hound’s ears. She rose and remounted her own horse, digging her heels in to catch up to Kristoff.

 

Marshmallow laid his head wearily on his paws and stayed behind to guard what was left of his home.

 

* * *

 

 

The jumbled pile of boulders that made up the opening to the caves loomed ahead. “Momma! We’re almost there!” Valeria shouted.

 

“Keep running!” Anna panted, ignoring the growing pain in her belly. A raider slapped her shoulder with the flat of his _seax._ She stumbled, but kept her feet under her. She twisted, _siccae_ out wide, and ripped them across his gut. His intestines poured out, and he dropped to his knees to retch all over himself.

 

It was risky, but she spared a glance forward, and nearly sobbed with relief when she saw the younglings scrambling over the rocky entrance to the caves. She spun around just as a Raider threw his arms wide and tackled her. She fell to the ground hard with the big brute on top of her, and used the momentum to piston her legs and kick him up and over her. He landed flat on his back with a grunt that devolved to a squeal of pain when her blades scissored across his eyes, blinding him.

 

Anna stumbled and stood, clutching her _siccae_ in blood-soaked fists. She turned so the caves were at her back. Five Raiders stood in the clearing before her, fanning out, giving her a wide berth. Her lungs burned and her gut clenched in agony, but she had a job to do and she would face down the gods themselves before she even thought of giving up.

 

“Alright,” she spat in the dirt and wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist, leaving a bright smear of their blood across her face. “Who’s next?”

 

* * *

 

Kristoff slapped Agrippa’s flanks, desperately urging more speed from the dun stallion. His insides shuddered and clenched in white-hot terror while his mind focused on only one thing. He had to get to his family in time. He _had_ to.

 

Both riders practically flew across the gravel strand. The caves weren’t far, but Kristoff couldn’t get there fast enough. He paid no heed to the bodies they passed on the way, at least five of them, some of them still writhing in the dirt. Suqi was more cautious about leaving enemies alive behind them. She slowed to stab each one with her hunting spear before galloping on.

 

The metallic clang of blade on blade echoed through the narrow copse of trees separating the strand from the caves. Kristoff barreled through the slender boles and exploded into the corpse-strewn clearing. His blood both froze and burned in his veins when he saw Valeria, Gydda, and Agdarius fending off two massive dark-bearded Raiders. He charged, roaring at them.

 

The two men turned and stared at their deaths riding toward them. The children had enough sense to scramble back before their father collided with the Raiders. Everyone went down, arms and legs and hooves flailing. Agrippa got his legs under him and ran back into the trees. Kristoff jumped to his feet and drew his long-bladed _spathea_ from its sheath on his back. Two steps and a mighty swing, and he cleaved the larger of the two Raiders in half from shoulder to groin.

 

The last Raider took one look at what the big blond man did to his companion and fled into the copse of trees. He made it past the first boles before he stumbled back into the clearing, Suqi’s hunting spear quivering in his ribs. His hands reached for the haft, nerveless fingers fumbling for grip before he collapsed at her feet.

 

Kristoff glanced about for any more Raiders, but none were left standing. Suqi retrieved her spear and jogged up to join him.

 

“Poppa!” Gydda wailed. She dropped her _gladius_ and rushed into her father’s arms. Valeria and Agdarius followed suit, and Kristoff smothered them in a fierce embrace. Suqi smiled at the little reunion.

 

“Shhh,” he soothed, “It’s over now. They’re gone. It’s over,” he murmured into their hair. He pulled back and looked into their tear-stained faces. “Where’s your mother? With the younglings?”

 

As if his words summoned them, Sigard and Sigrun crept out of the cave opening. Alone, save for one of Sigrun’s siblings strapped to each of their backs. They stumbled forward, crying, desperate for comfort and security.

 

“I’m glad you’re all safe,” Suqi murmured, hugging Sigrun close, smoothing her disheveled braids out of her face.

 

“I’m so proud of you all,” Kristoff hugged his children close. “Now, where’s your mother?”

 

“Poppa…” Valeria whimpered.

 

“Where is she,” Kristoff couldn’t keep the edge of panic from his voice. “Where’s your mother?”

 

Gydda lifted a trembling hand and pointed to the bodies littering the clearing, to the one topped with braided copper hair.


	7. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this for Kristanna Week 2016 over on Tumblr, and i don't know how to insert it into the existing work, so i'm putting it here. Chronologically it's supposed to go between the Prologue and Chapter 1. i'll post the next full chapter tomorrow.

**_About a year after their handfasting, give or take a few days…_ **

 

The cloudless night sky was awash in vibrant ribbons of white streaked with blue and green. The air had a crisp bite to it, but the cold didn’t bother Kristoff. Between the nest of blankets and furs and his copper-haired wife asleep in his arms, he felt nothing but warmth.

 

His _wife_ …

 

It had been nearly thirteen moons since she came back into his life. Almost a full year, give or take a few days. He didn’t keep careful track of things like that. (Sven and Olaf did, but that had something to do with a bet.) A night like this, clear and bright without a breath of wind, would be perfect for hunting snow foxes. But he was beyond content to cuddle with his Aeris and enjoy the stillness.

 

He loved watching the lights with her. Before she came he was indifferent to them at best. But she told him what they meant to her, and why. So he made it a point of sharing them with her as often as possible. She would watch the sky light up, and he’d watch her. The way her eyes would widen, her open-mouthed smile, and her whole face would soften with an almost childlike wonder… it was breathtaking. And when she turned that beautiful face of hers to gaze at him…

 

_Well_ , he chuckled ruefully, _that’s probably how we ended up where we are right now._

 

His palms rested on the dress of soft homespun wool she wore. As big as his hands were, they still couldn’t quite reach around the curve of her belly. She was due to deliver their child any day now, and he refused to leave her side. It wasn’t just because of tradition, either. He _wanted_ to be with her for this, no matter how anxious he was about the whole thing.

 

He held her gently, her back against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. He pressed his lips to her temple, lost in a swirl of memory and emotion.

 

Their past year wasn’t always smooth. Anna picked up their language relatively quickly, though she struggled with the colder climate. Not that the cold bothered her, far from it. She just couldn’t grasp how quickly it could overwhelm her. He lost count of how many times they huddled together in front of their roaring fireplace after one of her misadventures, shivering and struggling to warm back up. Considering how often his fear-induced adrenaline and her trembling nearness ended up with them utilizing more creative and… intimate ways to warm up, he secretly suspected she did it on purpose.

 

They were both stubborn, and quarreled from time to time. He still had trouble believing she was here with him. That she would choose to leave her sister and her home to be with him. It actually led to one of their first real fights. They shouted at each other about the other’s apparent lack of trust until he broke down and told her his fear of losing her like he’d lost everything else he’d ever loved. She clung to him fiercely and confessed how the year without him turned her home in Rome into a waking nightmare of sadness and paranoia. They learned to trust each other more with their fears, and their hopes.

 

They also learned that while they weren’t really fond of fighting with each other, they were really _really_ fond of making up.

 

His hands rubbed over her belly, and he let go of the worries of his impending fatherhood and focused instead on the excitement. The anticipation. The fierce pride he felt for the woman he held in his arms. The woman who was strength and fire, awkward grace and bubbly determination. The woman who was his everything. He felt the baby move under his palms, more of a restless shift than an indignant kick. He grinned and soothed his fingers along her belly. Someone was obviously eager as well.

 

Gods, he couldn’t wait to hold their little one in his arms. To proudly show his people the full expression of their love. To raise it up, to give their child a name and claim it as his own before both men and gods, a custom practiced by both their peoples. To see the pride and love in Anna’s eyes as they held their firstborn together.

 

Anna turned her head and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. He felt her sigh and relax deeper into his embrace. She’d had so much trouble sleeping these last few days, he was glad he could give her this comfort. The gods knew such peace would be in short supply in the near future.

 

So he tucked the furs more tightly around them, cradled her head with one hand while the other rested protectively over their child, and guarded their dreams.


	8. 6: Old Ghosts

“ ** _ANNA!!!_** ”

 

Kristoff bolted across the clearing, sliding on his knees beside the crumpled form of his wife. “Anna! No! No, please, no…”

 

His shuddering hands brushed the matted hair out of her bruised and bloodied face, cupping her cheeks in his broad palms. Her eyes were closed, almost as if she were only asleep. “No…” He scooped her up off of the cold, hard ground. She was so limp in his arms, so silent. He pulled her against his chest and sobbed. “ _Anna_ ….”

 

Suqi and the children crept close, shocked silent in disbelief. “Momma?” Sigard whimpered.

 

Kristoff clutched her close and wept into her shoulder, his heart breaking. Not his Anna. Not like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to _protect_ her, not abandon her to her fate! He couldn’t accept it, couldn’t stand it, couldn’t live with it. He was so lost in the crush of guilt and grief that he almost missed it.

 

But there it was again, the caress of something warm against his neck. A soft susurration that oh so gently stirred the hair behind his ear.

 

“Anna?!” He pulled back, looked down in disbelief at her still form. He placed a trembling, too-big hand against the slender column of her neck, praying to both her gods and his for a miracle.

 

And that miracle fluttered and throbbed against his calloused fingertips. It was faint and irregular, but it was there. It was real. “ _Anna_!” he half-cried, half-laughed, hugging her close, relief making him almost giddy.

 

“Momma!” The children tumbled over themselves to reach her, kneeling alongside her and touching her with trembling, disbelieving hands desperate for comfort. Suqi wiped her eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks for her best friend and her family.

 

But they weren’t out of the woods yet.

 

She nudged the children aside so she could kneel down. She placed a hand on Kristoff’s arm, silently asking him to let go. He held onto his Aeris tighter, but knew what Suqi was really asking of him. So he reluctantly loosened his grip. Suqi looked her over, using her eyes and hands to assess her wounds. Most of the blood wasn’t hers, but a lot of it was. Especially…

 

“She needs more than we can do for her here, especially with your roof destroyed,” Suqi frowned, one hand on Anna’s shoulder and the other on her distended belly. “She needs Sven, and quickly.”

 

Kristoff nodded, but then shook his head as he looked into the frightened faces of the children. Every time they split up, disaster stuck. They lost Olaf, and he almost lost Aeris. _You still might..._ He couldn’t lose the children, couldn’t even entertain the thought that his actions could wrench them away from him, but Anna’s wounds needed attention. How could he choose? He gazed in anguish at Suqi, “But…”

 

“We’ll just slow you down, and Aeris can’t wait.”

 

“Suqi, no. I...”

 

“We’ll stay here in the caves where it’s safe. We’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “See to Aeris, then send my hunters back with fresh horses to get us.”

 

“We’ll be ok, Poppa. Promise,” Valeria added.

 

Kristoff looked back down at his wife, still unconscious, but her brows had drawn together in pain. Suqi was right; Aeris couldn’t afford to wait. “Alright.”

 

“Poppa?” Gydda’s lower lip trembled. “Is Momma gonna be ok?”

 

Kristoff looked at her, at all of the children, wide-eyed and scared. “She has to be ok,” he choked out. He wanted to reassure them, but his heart was so cold with fear. “She just has to.”

 

* * *

 

 

Suqi held Agrippa’s bridle steady while Kristoff hauled himself and his unconscious wife up onto the dun’s back. He looked back down, still conflicted, but Valeria led the younglings back into the caves, taking paths Kristoff himself would have trouble following. “Go,” Suqi ordered, slapping her palm on the horse’s rump, and they ran.

 

They galloped towards the village, Agrippa fleet and sure-footed on the moss-strewn forest path. Kristoff held onto the saddle and reins with his right hand and clutched Anna close to him with the left, her head nestled on his shoulder, her face twisted in pain. He couldn’t lose her. He just couldn’t.

 

“…Kristoff?” she slurred, still not fully conscious.

 

“I’m here, Aeris. I’ve got you. Just hang in there. Please, just hang in there…”

 

She shuddered in his arms. “…hurts…” she whimpered, and he held her a little tighter. Even with the thunder of Agrippa’s hooves, he recognized the rhythmic spasms that wracked her exhausted body.

 

 _No, oh gods no! It’s too soon! Please, no, it’s…_ “Please hang in there, Aeris. Please….”

 

* * *

 

 

Agrippa burst through the last stand of trees and galloped across the open field toward the village. Kristoff didn’t slow the dun horse down a whit, hoping the sentries would recognize him before they loosed their arrows.

 

“It’s Kristoff and Aeris!” he heard one of them shout. He was grateful, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t dare. Aeris faded in and out of consciousness the entire ride, her face contorted in pain each time she shuddered, her trembling growing stronger and more frequent as they rode. He prayed they arrived in time.

 

Agrippa slid to a halt in front of Sven’s apothecary, sliding on his haunches to stop in front of the low door. Kristoff hopped off, cradling Anna close. The noise prompted Sven to open the door with a curious frown, which disappeared when he saw his blood-soaked friends. “Quickly, bring her inside.”

 

Kristoff shouldered past his friend and gingerly placed Anna on the raised table. Sven got to work immediately. “What happened?”

 

“Raiders,” Kristoff swore, his eyes never leaving Anna’s face. “They set a trap, separated Suqi and me from Anna and the children, then they attacked and burned the farmstead down.”

 

“The children?” Sven gaped at him, horrified. “Suqi…?”

 

“They’re all fine. Suqi’s with the children at the caves.” At his words, Sven sighed gustily with relief, then shook his head and focused again on Anna. He ran his hands along her skull and neck, probing with gentle fingers, heedless of the blood staining his hands. “She’s waiting on me to send her hunters out to bring them home.”

 

“Yes, good. Go do that.”

 

“No.”

 

“Kris--"

 

“No, Sven.” Kristoff growled, cutting him off. “I am _not_ leaving her. Not this time.”

 

“This isn’t your fault.”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“Look,” Sven sighed, not looking up from his examination. “Shout from the door if you have to, but send someone to help Suqi get our children home.” Sven’s hands ran over Anna’s abdomen, and he frowned. “Send someone to fetch Mistress Magnhilde too.”

 

“Magnhilde?” Kristoff flinched. “No, it’s too soon…”

 

“I know, but Aeris needs her now.”

 

“But--"

 

“Kristoff, your baby’s coming.” Sven cut him off. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop it.”

 

“Sven…”

 

“Whether the babe survives or not is in the gods’ hands. I can’t help Aeris with this alone. I need the midwife. _She_ needs the midwife, or _her_ life will be in the gods’ hands too. Now, go!”

 

Kristoff scrubbed the tears from his eyes, then went to the door.

 

* * *

 

 

“Jorvik and Eirik had 15 _Væringjar_ at their disposal. Nearly a score of my best warriors, and not one single man has returned?”

 

“Not as yet, m’Lord.”

 

“Where _are_ they, Calder?!”

 

“I-I do not know, m’Lord. Perhaps they failed?”

 

“Failed,” Harak seethed. “Your plan has failed, Calder.”

 

“Only this part, m’Lord, I assure you,” Calder held his hands up, placating his master. “There are other ways to claim your prize.”

 

“You better pray there are, Calder. Or it will be _your_ head that rolls for it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Night had fallen long ago, so long ago that dawn wasn’t far off now. Kristoff sat in the low chair beside the fire, exhausted beyond the meaning of the word. His foot idly twitched, rocking him slowly. He crooned an ancient lullaby as he cradled a too-small, too-still bundle of blankets in his arms.

 

It was not an easy birth. Anna was incoherent and barely conscious, passing out and fighting back up the entire time. Kristoff knelt behind her the entire time, supporting her injured and exhausted body as much as he could, hoping she could somehow draw on his strength, praying for a miracle. Sven and Mistress Magnhilde labored feverishly beside her the entire time, never giving up on either her or the babe.

 

And for a moment, it looked like their efforts would pay off. Anna was alive, but unconscious. The child was delivered, alive and whole, but so very tiny.

 

Kristoff stumbled back and flopped down hard in the room’s one chair, dazed. Sven tended to Anna while Magnhilde washed and wrapped the baby in a soft woolen blanket. She handed the child to Kristoff, worlds of regret in her old eyes. The babe didn’t cry, couldn’t cry, only stared up with steel-blue eyes and gasped for breath that couldn’t fill too-small lungs. Kristoff placed a hand larger than his child’s entire body over the little chest, desperate to do something, anything. But he was powerless. There was nothing he could do.

 

He looked over at his wife, resting on a pallet next to him by the fire. Anna could fix this. She never gave up, even when things looked beyond hopeless. But Anna was unconscious, exhausted, fighting for her own life.

 

It was as if every one of his nightmares were coming true. All those visions of agony and loss burst forth from the depths of his mind, and he couldn’t stop them. His home was destroyed, his friend murdered, his children still hadn’t returned, his wife injured, and his baby…

 

Anguished, he looked back down at the babe. Tiny eyes watched him solemnly. Tiny fingers curled around the tip of his forefinger and held on with surprising strength. Kristoff did the only thing he could do: he sang. He sat and rocked their dying child, heedless of the tears streaming down his face, and he sang. “I’m sorry, my little one. I am so sorry.” He placed a soft, gentle kiss against the babe’s forehead. “Poppa loves you, sweet one. Momma loves you too, our little warrior.”

 

He sang throughout the night. He sang as he felt the tiny chest shudder and sigh one last time. He didn’t stop singing even after the dawn stained the eastern sky and the bundle grew cold in his arms.

 

* * *

 

 

“Eirik and Jorvik should have returned by now. We must assume they and their men are dead.”

 

“All of them, m’Lord?” Calder protested. “How is that possible?”

 

“Romans are as treacherous as they are dangerous, old man. You don’t know them like I do.”

 

Calder coughed, leaning on his walking staff. “You’d be surprised,” he murmured.

 

“This insult cannot be left unanswered. Summon the rest of the _Væringjar._ ”

 

“Will there be time?” There are over a hundred men out here with us.”

 

“Yes, Calder. Send the call, they’ll be here in less than a day. I’m through playing games. No more plunder or thralls. We will winnow this land from one end to the other, and put it to the torch. The Roman wench will not escape me this time.”

 

Calder’s smile was all kinds of unpleasant. “It will be as you will, m’Lord.”

 

* * *

 

 

Suqi shut the door behind her and walked over to the pallet. Kristoff looked up as she checked over Anna, who was still unconscious. “The children?” he asked, voice rough with emotion.

 

“They’re safe,” Suqi reassured him. “My hunters found us after dark, so we stayed in the caves until first light and rode back without incident.”

 

Kristoff nodded, grateful for the good news. Suqi glanced at Kristoff, who still cradled the little bundle in his arms. “Magnhilde told me what happened. Kristoff, I…”

 

Her voice caught in her throat. He looked up at her, curious. In the twelve years he’s known her, she’s never been this unsure.

 

“Kristoff, I’m so sorry.” She looked down and away, shame staining her dark cheeks. “If I hadn’t panicked, hadn’t fallen for that _stupid bloody obvious_ trap, this wouldn’t have happened.”

 

“We don’t know that.”

 

“But…”

 

“Suqi, this is no more your fault than it’s Aeris’s fault for these raids.” Kristoff sighed, looking down at the bundle in his arms. “Blaming ourselves changes nothing.”

 

She looked back to him, catching his sad brown eyes with her own. He was right. His words rang with wisdom that even his overwhelming grief could not snuff. She couldn’t think of anything to say to this man she considered her brother, other than, “I’m sorry.”

 

“So am I,” he murmured, his own voice catching.

 

“What will you do?”

 

“I want a funeral,” he didn’t look up, focusing instead on the infant in his arms. Children born sickly, deformed, or unable to survive on their own were given back to the gods, either by leaving them in the forest for exposure or wild animals to take them, or casting them down a well. There was no funeral, as there was no life to celebrate. It may seem cruel, but the sooner these children were given back to the gods, the sooner the gods could let them be reborn healthy and whole and ready to lead lives worthy of celebration. “The gods may have called my child home early, but it wasn’t without a fight. A warrior’s funeral is more fitting.”

 

Suqi wiped the tears from her own face and nodded. “I’ll speak with Pabbie.”

 

Sven shambled in through the opposite door, yawning and rubbing at his face while Suqi tended to Anna. He stopped in his tracks, then walked over and folded his arms around his wife. She hugged him back just as fiercely. “This children?” he asked.

 

“Outside with Pabbie,” she reassured him with a warm hand on his bearded cheek. “Sigrun’s eager to see her poppa, and the rest are anxious to see their family.” Suqi glanced over at Kristoff, who nodded, his eyes never leaving Anna’s face.

 

Sven leaned into her hand, drawing on her strength, then turned to check on Anna. Suqi looked again at Kristoff, then sighed and quietly left the room. Sven dribbled a mixture of water, salt, and honey into Anna’s mouth, and rubbed her throat to get her to swallow it. “This is annoyingly familiar, isn’t it?” Sven joked half-heartedly. “I just hope she doesn’t sleep for three days again.”

 

Kristoff grunted a noncommittal reply.

 

Sven coughed out a pained laugh. “Yeah, well, at least this time most of the blood wasn’t hers. Aside from a couple stitched-up cuts and a few bruises, she’s in pretty good shape. Just overextended. Exhausted.” He looked up at Kristoff, who still kept his eyes on his wife, and still wouldn’t let go of their child. Sven closed his eyes against the sting of tears. “Yeah, _just_.”

 

“Poppa?”

 

Sven opened his eye in time to see Sigrun rush across the room. He knelt down and caught her, holding her close for several moments before husking out, “I’m so glad you’re safe, _vænn_.”

 

The rest of the children darted into the room, followed by Suqi with the twins on her hips. They gathered around the pallet, careful not to disturb their sleeping mother. “Poppa, is Momma alright? Sigard whispered.

 

Kristoff looked over to Sven, a fragile hope flickering in his brown eyes. Sven shrugged and gave him a small smile. “She’s getting there,” Kristoff murmured.

 

Gydda reached out to her mother, but let her hands hover over Anna’s arm before tucking them behind her back, her face turned away in shame. “I’m sorry we couldn’t protect her better, Poppa,” she whimpered.

 

“Oh sweet one, no,” Kristoff shifted and extended an arm out for her. She climbed up into his lap and buried her face in his shoulder. “None of this is your fault. You did well, just like we taught you.” He looked at each of his children, who now clustered around him. “You all did so well.”

 

“But we failed,” Agdarius sniffled, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

 

“That happens sometimes, even when you did your best,” Kristoff sighed. “We’ll heal, and we’ll rebuild. We just need time to rest, and to mourn what we’ve lost.”

 

Valeria stood by his side and tentatively reached out for the blanket-wrapped bundle still cradled in the crook of her father’s arm. “Poppa?”

 

Kristoff trembled. Anna swore Valeria looked like her sister, and perhaps she did a bit in poise and demeanor, but all Kristoff saw was Anna’s strength, beauty, and compassion in his eldest’s ice-blue eyes. He let Valeria take the baby, and couldn’t stop the tears when she shifted the blanket and gazed at the sibling she’d never get to know.

 

Agdarius joined his sister up in their father’s lap, and Sigard squirmed his way up as well. Valeria sat at his feet, leaning against his leg. Kristoff closed his eyes, letting his tears fall freely as he held all of his children for the last time.

 

* * *

 

 

Suqi took the children next door with her, though more often than not one would stay with Kristoff as he sat in vigil over Anna. One by one they would sit quietly in their father’s lap, letting him cuddle them as he watched their mother sleep. Even Valeria, who wasn’t much smaller than her mother, curled up and waited with him for her to wake up. By the time the sun painted the western sky in vibrant shades of orange and violet, Kristoff sat alone in his chair, dozing, holding Anna’s slender hand in his far larger one. Her fingers twitched, and he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles in response.

 

The movement roused him. He squeezed her hand, and a few heartbeats later she squeezed his hand in return. “Aeris?” he leaned up, brushing her bangs out of her dazed, cloudy eyes.

 

“Kristoff?”

 

“I’m here, Aeris,” he stroked his fingers along her brow, and down her cheek. “How do you feel?”

 

“I’ve felt better.” She stretched, arching her back like a cat, and then sat up. “But I’ve definitely felt worse, too. Where are we?”

 

“Sven’s apothecary.”

 

“Wait, what? Why? What happened?”

 

Kristoff clasped her other hand. “You… you don’t remember?” he held his breath. _How am I going to tell her? Why do I have to break her heart?_

 

“I… I remember…” Anna gazed down at their entwined hands and frowned. “I remember the raiders. The children?” she squeezed his hands, panic flooding her eyes.

 

“They’re safe” he reassured her. “Suqi has them next door.”

 

“Oh thank the gods,” she sighed, rubbing her eyes with relief. Her other hand drifted to her waist, and she jumped when it alit on her deflated belly. “The baby? I remember you… we…” she looked up at Kristoff, aghast. “Where’s our baby?”

 

“Anna…” his face crumpled in anguish.

 

“No…” she whimpered, clutching his arms. “No no no Kristoff, _where is our baby_?!”

 

His mouth worked, but no sound came. He closed his eyes, tears falling unbidden, and shook his head.

 

Anna convulsed, her hands gripping his forearms hard enough for her nails to dig in and draw blood. She shook her head in denial, small sounds like an injured animal twisting in her mouth until they erupted in a full-throated wail of misery. Kristoff wrapped himself around her, pinning her arms to him to keep her claw-hooked fingers from digging into her face. She twisted and writhed in his embrace, howling in agony and despair. He held on, helpless to ease her pain, helpless as her grief was subsumed by boiling, white-hot rage.

 

* * *

 

 

Suqi sat in a chair by the hearth, nursing one of her twins while she told the rest of the children a light-hearted tale about the cunning trickster god being outsmarted by a wily shieldmaiden. Pabbie walked in near the tail end of her story, and smiled at the children’s quiet laughter.

 

“Did that _really_ happen?” Agdarius asked, frowning skeptically.

 

“Who knows?” Suqi shrugged. “The stories say it did.”

 

“You could ask the Trickster yourself, but I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s a sore subject for him,” Pabbie winked at him.

 

“Is everything ready?” Suqi asked, frowning somberly as she rubbed her baby’s back.

 

“It is done,” Pabbie sighed. “We’ll wait until dusk to begin.”

 

“What if Aeris isn’t awake by then?”

 

Pabbie wiped a weary hand over his eyes. “Funerals aren’t something you can or should delay.”

 

Just then they all heard the blood-chilling wail of despair from the apothecary next door. “Looks like we won’t have to worry about Aeris waking up.”

 

“Momma?’ Gydda whimpered. Valeria stood up and strode over to the door.

 

“Wait, young one,” Pabbie held up a weathered hand. “Your mother’s just learned about the baby. She needs time before she sees you.”

 

Valeria looked as if she wanted to protest.

 

“She needs to grieve. Don’t worry, she isn’t alone.”

 

Valeria twisted her hands in front of her chest. “Can you check on them, Grandpabbie sir? Please?” she asked.

 

Pabbie smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Of course, young one.” He looked up at Suqi, who nodded in understanding.

 

Pabbie walked to the apothecary door, feeling a weight of sadness he hadn’t felt in over twenty years. He took a breath, then pushed the door open.

 

“…I will go back across the sea,” Anna all but frothed, her tear-stained rage at odds with the absolutely tender way she cradled the tiny blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. “I will gather the Legions and I will fall on Harak and his men like the wrath of every god worshipped on this miserable world! He won’t live long enough to regret what he’s done to us!”

 

“Anna, no!” Kristoff pleaded with her, gripping her upper arms. “That won’t solve anything.”

 

“He’s right,” Pabbie rumbled from the doorway. “The Legions would only make a bad situation worse.”

 

“What do _you_ know, old man?! You couldn’t _possibly_ understand!!”

 

“You’re wrong, Aeris. I _do_ understand.” Pabbie’s gravelly voice carried decades of grief, the tone enough to pull Anna up short. “I watched the Romans slaughter my people. Watched them slit my wife’s throat, watched them murder my only daughter and her husband, watched them take my grandson and the other children away,” he put his hand on Kristoff’s shoulder, “and could do nothing to stop it.”

 

Anna blinked, realizing that Kristoff was the grandson he spoke of.

 

“It’s far easier to turn to hatred. It’s a cold comfort, but it hurts less than the grief and the guilt.” His sigh spoke of ageless grief. “Believe me, I know. Hatred’s call is seductive, but it’s wrong. It lies. Once it enters your heart, it will consume you until nothing is left of it but a frozen husk. Hatred solves nothing.”

 

Anna glanced away, chagrined at hearing her own words used against her, but knowing they were the truth.

 

“Don’t become your enemy in your desire to defeat your enemy,” Pabbie told her. “That’s the lesson Harak failed to learn, and we’re all suffering for his shortcomings.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “You’re so much better than him. _Be_ better than him. _That’s_ how we’ll defeat him. Any other way is a victory not worthy of you, or your sacrifice.”

 

Anna looked down at the dead child in her arms, clutched it tight to her chest, and felt something deep inside her shatter like glass. The hatred fell away, leaving behind festering guilt and raw grief in its bloody wake. It felt as if her entire being would crumble under the weight of it.

 

But she knew she didn’t face it alone.

 

She leaned into her husband’s chest and sobbed. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close to him as she held their child to her bosom. She felt his tears fall into her hair, and she wormed an arm free to wrap it around his waist, holding him, comforting him as well. He placed a hand on their child, and together they wept for what was lost.

 

Pabbie left them to their grief. He of all people knew it was a weight that would never go away, but he was happy she and his grandson had each other to help bear it.

 

* * *

 

 

Funerals are never easy, but this one was particularly difficult to bear. Anna wept silently as she placed the _viaticum_ on their baby’s forehead, and Kristoff lit the pyre. They stood back, clinging to each other as they watched the billowing column of smoke carry the little soul back to the gods. Their family wasn’t alone. They were surrounded by dozens of villagers who shared in their grief and honored their little fallen warrior.

 

They had no home to return to, so they stayed with Sven’s family. The following day Agdarius and Sigard tended to the wounded Marshmallow, changing his bandages under the watchful eyes of Sigrun, who barked orders at them in her best impersonation of her father. Valeria and Gydda looked after the twins, as Suqi was out with her hunters searching for signs of the Raiders’ camp. Anna rested, watching over the children, and Kristoff watched over her, holding her close more often than not. He recognized the burning intensity in her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw. She was up to something.

 

Suqi returned an hour before sunset with a grim, almost feral smile on her face. “We found them,” she grinned.

 

Kristoff looked up sharply. “So now what?”

 

“I told Pabbie my hunters only need a few hours’ rest. So we’ll rest and ready our weapons while Pabbie musters more warriors, then we’ll return to the hunt.”

 

Anna pushed out of Kristoff’s embrace without a word and handed one of the twins to Valeria, then turned and walked to the back of the roof.

 

Suqi watched her go, watched Kristoff watch her, and said, “You won’t be able to stop her.”

 

“Some things never change,” he drawled.

 

Kristoff walked back to the small room he shared with his wife, and blinked when he found her there. She had changed into dark green and brown leathers, perfect for blending into the forest underbrush, and had blades strapped to her back, biceps, hips, thighs, and even a pair peeking out of the high tops of her boots.

 

His first thought was _No_. A firm, emphatic denial, but over a decade of experience told him that would be worse than useless. So he swallowed down his fear, though it made his voice gruff. “Are you sure this is wise?”

 

“Wise or not, it’s what I must do.”

 

“You’re not fully healed.”

 

“I will never be fully healed from what Harak’s taken from me. Besides, so much of what’s happened to our people is my fault.”

 

“It is _not_ your fault,” Kristoff all but growled.

 

Anna shrugged. “Fault or no, I am at the root of it. So I will do everything I can to end this.”

 

“Are you sure it’s worth the risk?”

 

“You can’t tell me you don’t want his blood on your blades as well?!” she flared.

 

“Not as much as I want him and his men gone from our lands. I want to get back to our lives.”

 

Anna glanced down at the short-bladed _pugio_ in her hands and frowned. She thought back to their time together in the _Ludus_ , when the conniving General Gaius Hansel Westerguard imprisoned them. Kristoff told her then he’d forgo his own need for revenge if it meant he could achieve his true goal: freedom for himself and his friend. Anna scoffed at that notion at the time, but now she understood. She slid the _pugio_ into the scabbard on her hip. “Agreed.”

 

He walked up to her and cupped her jaw in his palms. He kissed her forehead, then rested his own against hers. “Focus,” he murmured, for her as well as himself. He opened his eyes, letting her see the fear, the grief, and everything else he tried to hide. “I can’t lose you again.”

 

“You won’t.” Anna wiped the tears that fell from his eyes, then tangled one hand in the hair at the base of his neck, the other wrapped around his waist to pull him close. “I’m done letting my pride lead me about by the nose. We do this the right way. Together.”

 

She broke their embrace and reached over to grab his scabbarded _spathea_ , then held it out to him, palms up. He felts his lips twitch upward. These last few days he hoped she could draw strength from him, but in reality he drew his strength from her. He placed his hands over hers, heartened by the limitless determination in her blue eyes. “Together,” he affirmed.

 

* * *

 

 

Anna hunkered down low to the ground, her eyes just cleared the lip of the rise she lay upon. From there she could easily see the Raiders’ camp in the wide hollow below.

 

Their journey here took most of the night. They didn’t move fast, opting for stealth over speed. Anna was grateful for that. She was faster and lighter on her feet now, but she still felt the effects of her exhaustion, still felt brittle from everything she endured over the past few days.

 

“I can’t believe they camped on the low ground,” Suqi whispered from her spot to Anna’s left. “They’re either arrogant or idiots. Sure, it hides your fires, but only from those too blind to see them anyway.”

 

Kristoff lay to her right, listening intently. The Raiders were too far for him to hear more than the faintest of murmurs, echoing louder at odd times as they moved about the hollow, but they were easy enough to see. Their camp fires cast long shadows and the light of the gibbous moon illuminated their faces. He growled low in his throat when he spotted Harak striding through the center of the camp, a spindly old man in dusty brown robes hobbling to keep up.

 

“…latest group brings it to a hundred, m’Lord.”

 

“Excellent, Calder. Any signs of the last bands?”

 

“Not as yet, m’Lord, but I’m confident they’ll arrive shortly, if you wish to wait.”

 

“Wait all you want, _hrafnasueltir_ ,” Suqi smirked. “They won’t be joining you this side of the afterlife.”

 

“No, Calder. No more waiting. We ride out at dawn. The Roman wench will _not_ escape me this time!”

 

“It is a long time in coming, m’Lord, but your blade will drink deeply of her heart’s blood before the sun sets again, and all of our honor will be restored.”

 

Kristoff bared his teeth at the threat, but Anna hissed beside him like an angry cat. He glanced at her, and saw more than hatred in her twisted face. Heard more than mere hatred in the sulphurous curses that poured from her lips in languages he’d never heard before. No, this went deeper than hate. Her eyes burned with the fire that could only come from a blood feud.

 

And she wasn’t looking at Harak.

 

“Aeris?” Kristoff whispered.

 

“I know that man,” she snarled, her entire body quivering with rage.

 

“Who, the old Raider?” Suqi asked.

 

“He’s no Raider,” Anna fumed. “He’s _Roman!_ ”

 

“Wait, _what_?” Suqi hissed. “How in Hel’s name does the high and mighty Harak who hates Romans with a bloody passion have a Roman _advisor_?”

 

“I’m willing to bet Harak doesn’t know he’s Roman,” Kristoff frowned. “But a Roman named Calder?”

 

“That’s _not_ his name,” Anna seethed. “His true name is Cassius. Cassius Westerguard!”


	9. 7: The Roman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! Thanks for sticking this out. i haven't given up on it, and i'm completely grateful you haven't either!

Suqi watched Kristoff’s face first drain of color, then flush hot with rage. “Westerguard?” she asked, the foreign name harsh on her tongue.

 

“A powerful family back in Rome,” Sven explained. “One of them imprisoned Aeris and killed her father, the Emperor.”

 

“Another led the Legions when they destroyed our home all those years ago.” Kristoff growled.

 

“ _Breiddjame_ ,” Suqi swore under her breath. “And this one, Cassius?”

 

“is a dead man,” Anna drew her _siccae_ with a snarl.

 

“Aeris, no!” Suqi clutched Anna’s wrist.

 

“But--"

 

“No, Aeris. Think!” Suqi glared at her. “We’re outnumbered at least three to one. We need a plan!”

 

Anna swallowed, hard, but resheathed her blades with a curt nod. Her eyes met Kristoff’s for a moment before she dropped her gaze back to the encampment below.

 

“Ok, so we need a plan,” Sven broke the silence. “Any ideas?”

 

Pabbie and Suqi sketched out a plan, with Kristoff contributing his years of gladiatorial expertise. The numbers were grossly against them, but they had the high ground, the night, and the element of surprise. It could work, but a lot could go wrong. Horribly wrong.

 

“We need to keep the raiders down in their camp, we need them to think there’s a lot more of us than there are, and we need to take out their sentries,” Suqi counted off each point on her calloused fingers. “Once they can’t see us, we use the night to make our numbers seem larger, and our archers will pluck them off like overripe fruit.”

 

“And then we take out Harak and Cassius,” Kristoff’s eyes glittered in the low light.

 

“And we free our kinswomen they still hold,” Sven added.

 

“Aye, and teach these _kamphundrinn_ to never darken our shores again.” Suqi’s grin was downright feral.

 

“Can you get your hunters into position quickly, Suqi?” Pabbie asked.

 

“Of course. But why?”

 

Pabbie just sighed. Sven looked confused. Kristoff swore under his breath.

 

Anna was missing.

 

* * *

 

 

A ghost stalked the woods that night: pale of skin, hair of burnished copper, eyes as cold and dark as winter’s heart. None would speak of this ghost, though. None who encountered her survived to tell the tale.

 

Anna cleaned her _siccae_ on the filthy cloak of the fallen raider at her feet. She stepped over the body, over the growing pool of blood pouring from his sliced neck, and faded back into the night. He was the sixth to succumb to her blades, more than enough to slake any sane person’s thirst.

 

But she wasn’t sure of her sanity, and she definitely wasn’t satisfied. The ones she truly wanted still fouled the earth with their presence. Still ranted about The Roman.

 

Harak was there, the one who ravaged her people in a vain attempt to get to her. The one who sent dozens of men to slaughter her and her children. The one who took her home and her baby from her. Cassius was there, the one who pulled Harak’s strings. The one who escaped justice back in Rome when Westerguard fell more than a decade ago, and almost killed her beloved Elsa in the process.

 

Her _children_. Her _baby_. Her _sister_ ….

 

Wisps of anger seethed out between the cracks of her icy façade.

 

She was told Cassius was dead. She was _assured_ he was dead, by people she _trusted!_ She should’ve made sure. She should’ve demanded his head on a platter. But once again, she failed. The raids, the destruction, the deaths, her baby…. her fault. And like so many times before, the price of her failure was blood.

 

A seventh sentry crossed her path. He made no sound as he fell dead to the ground.

 

She had no mind for wartime strategy and she knew it. Back in Rome, Kai taught her the ways of the Legions, but they lacked the numbers or the weapons to make that work. Suqi, Pabbie, and Kristoff discussed battle plans while Anna watched the hollow below, seething in her own failure. She knew little of the battlefield, but there were other ways to win a war.

 

Another sentry stepped between the trees. He never saw her coming.

 

She wouldn’t let her family down. Not this time. Not again. If her failures demanded blood, let it be the raiders who bled. Let it be their blood that salted the earth, to serve as a warning to any who would do harm to those she called family.

 

Yet another sentry strayed too far from his post. Another raider fell to the ghost.

 

Anna knew she shouldn’t hunt alone. Knew she was making yet another mistake. Knew she promised Kristoff she wouldn’t let her pride goad her. But pride didn’t guide her hand this night. No, it was Harak and Cassius alive and gloating less than an arrow’s shot away while they idly chatted about strategy.

 

The weight of her failures pressed like stones on her lungs. Her enemies before her, hale and whole with the blood of her family, her baby, on their hands, and she sat on her heels and did _nothing!_

 

So when she heard the part of the plan that called for killing the sentries, Anna melted into the night. She couldn’t sit still a moment longer. She wouldn’t. Not anymore. The raiders harrowed her home for weeks, crying out for the Roman. Harak murdered Olaf and dumped his corpse at her feet, demanding the Roman. So the Roman haunted their hollow. The Roman who grew up unseen in the public eye. The Roman who killed more assassins in her time than all the Imperial Heart Guard combined. The Roman who protected her beloved family no matter the cost.

 

The Roman who would end what Harak was foolish enough to start.

 

* * *

 

 

“Gone?” Sven hissed. “How can she be _gone_?!”

 

“I thought you were keeping an eye on her!” Suqi shot back in a harsh whisper.

 

“I _was_ keeping an eye on her!” Sven countered. “She was just here a moment ago!”

 

“Well she’s not here now!”

 

“Not helping, love!”

 

“What’s the plan now, Suqi?” Pabbie interjected. The old man’s words cut through their bickering. They looked at each other, helpless, then slowly turned to look at Kristoff.

 

The big man was silent, eerily so. His face showed no emotion, just focus and concentration. Only the white-knuckled grip on his _gladius_ betrayed his inner turmoil. Sven knew that look all too well. He saw it countless times during their sojourn in the _ludus_ , when the endless blood and death was drowning him, when he believed he had nothing left to live for. When he was about to do something dangerously stupid. “Kristoff—"

 

A twig snapped behind them. The shadows on the edge of the outcrop swirled around a pinpoint of pale flame, then Anna stepped out of the darkness. Their gobsmacked stares did nothing to faze her. “Their sentries are dead.”

 

“What in Hel’s name are you _doing_ , Aeris?!” Suqi seethed.

 

“You said the sentries had to be taken care of,” Anna explained, calm and disturbingly matter-of-fact. “The ones on the rim are taken care of.”

 

Sven crossed his arms. “What, couldn’t reach the others?” he snarked.

 

“I couldn’t get close enough to their tents to take care of them.”

 

“That was a _joke_ , Aeris!” Sven hissed as he threw his hands up in the air. Anna was unperturbed by her friends’ reproachful glares, eerily so, though she did flinch when her eyes alit on her husband. Sven drew breath to launch into a tirade, but stopped when Kristoff moved.

 

The big man stalked over to his wife, took her hand and, without stopping, pulled her back into the shadows.

 

Sven and Suqi stared at the spot where they disappeared. “Get your hunters into place, Suqi,” Pabbie’s low grumble cut through the silence. “Kristoff will take care of Aeris. And one way or another, this ends tonight.”

 

* * *

 

Kristoff walked several paces back into the woods, pulling Anna with a gentle yet unrelenting grip. He whirled and placed his big hands on her small shoulders. He wanted to scream at her, to shake sense into her, to clutch her close and never let her go. She returned his hot gaze with a cold one, eyes as devoid of emotion as the dead. He could feel her slipping away from him. He needed to make her hear him, to understand. He had to bring her back from the abyss that was hungry to wrench her away from him.

 

He didn’t speak. Not with words, at least. He let his eyes speak to her. To show her how close to the bone she cut him. To let her see him bleeding inside. To make her see what she’d done to him with her recklessness.

 

Her mask faltered. Fissures crackled through her eyes, revealing the struggle between her empathy and shame, and the overwhelming pain buried below it all. She reached a trembling hand up to his face, but she pulled it back, as if her touch would hurt him more. He captured her hand in his, then pressed her palm to his cheek, letting his eyes drift shut as the tears he’d been fighting escaped his control.

 

She spoke, her voice an anguished whimper. “Kristoff, I…”

 

He let go of her hand, and it fell to his chest. He pulled her into a fierce hug, burying his face in her hair even as his arms crushed her to him.

 

“I can’t do this alone, Anna,” he told her, voice thick with emotion. “I can’t protect our village, raise our children, I can’t. Anna, I-I can’t live without you.” He held her close, not caring a whit that her scabbards dug into his flesh.

 

“I’m so sorry, Kristoff…” she husked into his chest.

 

“Please, Anna. Please don’t make me do this on my own. Because I can’t, Anna. I-I just can’t.”

 

“You won’t,” she vowed. “We won’t.”

 

Kristoff pulled back and met her tearful gaze. He held it for several heartbeats before he murmured, “You promised that before.”

 

Anna flinched, jolting her entire frame. “I…” Agony swam in her eyes before they drifted shut, and she turned her face away in shame. “I know.”

 

She didn’t make excuses, didn’t try to justify herself to him, didn’t try to hide that she was in pieces. That was his Aeris, his wife, the woman who fought and bled with him, who trusted him with her heart as well as her life. He hadn’t lost her to the darkness. He still might, but he clung to the hope that she understood him. He cupped her jaw and tilted her face back up to him. Her eyes remained shut, and he wiped her tears away with the pad of his thumb. He kissed both of her closed eyelids before pressing his forehead to hers. They breathed each other in for what felt like hours.

 

“Focus,” he murmured, as he had so many times before. He cracked his eyes enough to see the ghost of a smile pass across her lips. “We both have to make it home. Our children are waiting for us.”

 

Anna took a shaky breath, and sighed in agreement. “Focus.”

 

“Besides, I need to feed my blades too.” She huffed out a laugh at that.

 

He returned her smile, but then his face fell somber. “Do you trust me?”

 

Anna stepped back and drew her _siccae_. They danced in her hands so the blades rested across her palms, hilts pointing out towards him. “I trust you.”

 

Touched by her gesture, he folded her hands back around her blades. “Good. I have a plan.”

 

* * *

 

 

Suqi’s hunters were stringing their bows as Kristoff and Anna returned to the lip of the hollow. They crouched down beside their friends and looked at the camp below. Nothing looked amiss, and no alarm cry rang out. “Looks like your _vitskertr_ idiocy has yet to be noticed, “Sven frowned at her.

 

Anna ducked her head a fraction, but accepted his rebuke and met his eyes. “Let’s hope my idiot luck holds.”

 

Kristoff cut off any further banter. “Are we ready?”

 

“Just about,” Suqi replied. “Everyone knows what to do, at least until the Raiders find their feet.”

 

“Then we’ll need to keep them off-balance,” Sven grinned. “Any ideas?”

 

Silence echoed about them as all eyes fell on Kristoff.

 

“Harak keeps demanding the Roman. So,” Kristoff let his gaze settle on his wife, “let’s give him the Roman.”


	10. Chapter 8: The Breaking Point

The last sliver of the moon faded below the western treeline, and an inky darkness shrouded the woods. It wouldn’t be long before the false dawn painted the eastern horizon in steely gray hues. Raiders stirred up their meager cookfires, the bright orange flames cast long shadows between the low thatched hovels that dotted the hollow. Two men prowled the undulating darkness, one tall and brooding, the other hobbling to keep up. A lone spearman walked a respectful distance behind.

 

“Soon, m’Lord,” the shorter one fawned. “Soon your blades will drink deeply of the blood of Romans and traitors.”

 

“Not soon enough, Calder.”

 

“Aye, m’Lord,” the old man’s head bobbed sagely on his spindly neck. “Patience is a loathsome burden when honor demands action.”

 

They moved about the camp, ignoring the men who went about their morning duties. The hovels had a look of permanence, occupied by sour-faced men who felt the press of the turning seasons. It was past time to be on the open water, sailing home.

 

“M’Lord!!” A lanky Raider stumbled up to Harak, shaking with poorly-contained fear. “M’Lord, they-- they’re g-gone!”

 

“Gone? Who’s gone?”

 

“The sentries!” the tall Raider gasped.

 

Harak’s gaze swept the lip of the hollow and saw nothing but shadows. “Deserters?!”

 

“No, m’Lord, th-they’re just gone! No noise, no bodies, nothing! It’s like the wisps carried them away, or trolls took them for their bones--”

 

Harak slapped his man hard across the jaw. “Get a hold of yourself!” The blow drove the raider to his knees. “Are you one of my _Væringjar,_ or a cowering _hrafnasueltir!_?”

 

“m’Lord!” Harak’s honor guard tugged on the arm of his tunic.

 

“Sentries don’t just disappear, man,” Harak grabbed the raider by his grimy tunic, ignoring both his guardsman and the bevy of raiders who gathered to watch the commotion. “Where _are_ they?!”

 

“ _m’Lord_!!!” the terror-stricken guard pointed to the ridge, where the shadows coalesced into a hulking form made more sinister by how human it looked.

 

A panicked hush raced through the hollow, crackling like the air just before a lightning strike. “ _Dökkálfar_!” the cowering raider whimpered. “ _Svartálfar_ come to swallow our souls!”

 

“Fool,” Harak growled, tossing the man to the ground. “Who are you? Where are my sentries?!!”

 

The ghostly figure pulled his hood back, his sandy hair stained red from the fires below. “Dead, for your pride,” Kristoff glared murder down into Harak’s hollow, his voice echoing oddly through the encampment.

 

Harak ignored his men’s growing terror. “You lie!” he bellowed.

 

“Do I?” Kristoff crossed his arms. One by one, Suqi’s hunters stepped forward, eyes glinting in the firelight, floating disembodied above their cloaked shoulders. They stood where Harak’s men once stood, arrows nocked and ready, and kicked the corpses of the dead sentries down into the hollow.

 

One corpse rolled to a stop next to the cowering raider at Harak’s feet, its lifeless eyes wide and mouth gaping above the bloody smile that was its throat slit ear to ear.

 

“Killed by what they couldn’t see,” Sven pulled his arrow to his ear.

 

“The gods have abandoned us!” the cowering raider gibbered. “The gods have abandoned us!!” Harak backhanded him, and he fell limp atop the body of his former comrade.

 

“You see we’ve returned your dead to you. You see we have you surrounded,” Suqi called out, her higher voice casting dissonant echoes through the hollow. “But ask yourselves, what do you _not_ see?”

 

It was a bluff; every hunter stood on the rim, ethereal in the smoky firelight. But with the paling of the eastern sky, there was no longer time for subtlety. And judging by the harried looks of the Raiders as they looked back and forth between the living and their dead, they fell for it.

 

“I warned you, Harak,” Pabbie grumbled, his thick voice echoing coldly. “Throw down your weapons and release our kinswomen.”

 

“And if I don’t?” Harak sneered.

 

The hunters drew their arrows tighter, the limbs of their yew bows creaking under the strain.

 

“And if we do?!” another Raider screeched. Harak glared murder, eyes scanning for the traitorous voice.

 

“We let you live,” Pabbie replied. “We let you go. You owe us your lives, the debt repaid by never darkening our shores again.”

 

Harak snorted, “Pathetic.”

 

“You could take your chances, I suppose,” Pabbie drawled. “Attacking a superior force while surrounded and trapped on the low ground. Perhaps the gods will favor you, as they’ve obviously favored you so far with riches beyond your wildest dreams that you’ve so easily gleaned from our lands.”

 

The raiders edged back towards the center of the hollow, away from the arrows trained on their hearts, eyes wide like cornered rabbits. Pabbie pressed his advantage. “There is no cowardice in surrendering to a superior force. There is no reason to fight and die over a pittance. Live to fight another day. Lay down your weapons and depart in peace.”

 

The one Harak called Calder whispered in his master’s ear, and the big Raider’s face flushed with anger. “My _Væringjar_ aren’t cowards, you old fool! We won’t tuck tail and flee, and we _won’t_ rest until the Roman is dead for her crimes!”

 

“Maybe they’re right, m’Lord,” the scrawny raider spoke up again.

 

“ _What_ did you say, Borg?!”

 

“I said maybe they’re right!” The one named Borg stood his ground, though his voice wavered. Several raiders backed away from him, but several more stepped up to his side. “The _Væringjar_ and I followed you here, fought for you and your promise of plunder. We even stayed on to find the Roman at your command, even when most of us wanted to sail on to better hunting. But we’re dying and have little to show for it. This land is cursed, I say.”

 

The raiders at his back gave voice to their grievances.

 

“We’ve lost half our number to this backwater, and the plunder’s so poor it’s hardly worth our sweat.”

 

“There’s no profit in killing the ghosts of old feuds.”

 

“If I wanted to work this hard with so little to show for it, I’d’ve stayed on my farm!”

 

“I’ve no interest dying in this gods-forsaken piss hole so you can keep chasing wisps!”

 

More and more Raiders grumbled their agreement.

 

Borg drew a breath, emboldened by the apparent support. “This land is cursed, m’Lord, and they’re offering us a way out. I say we take it and find fatter lands to raid.”

 

Calder tugged at his master’s sleeve, whispered into his ear, stoking his righteous rage.

 

“We are _not_ going _anywhere_!” Harak roared. The men at his back slapped their _seaxes_ against their shields in agreement. “Not until honor is satisfied. Not until we’ve purged the vermin who slaughtered our kin, and not until the Roman wench is dead at my feet!”

 

“You want the Roman?” Kristoff shouted. “I’ll give you the Roman!”

 

The air went out of the hollow, the only sound the crackling of the unattended cookfires.

 

“Ha!” Harak’s voice shattered the silence like glass. “I knew it!! And you claimed you had no Roman!”

 

“Aye, that’s true,” Kristoff crossed his arms. “The only Roman I see stands among you and yours.”

 

A sour grumble rippled through the hollow. Harak scoffed, “There are no filthy Romans amongst my _Væringjar_.”

 

“Care to make a wager on that?” Sven leered.

 

Raiders eyed each other with suspicion, weapons poised. All except Harak, whose murderous gaze never left Kristoff. And the old man who was doing his best to surreptitiously scuttle away from his master.

 

“Going somewhere, Cassius?!” Kristoff shouted. The little man froze mid-step, near the edge of the main clearing. “Why do you abandon your master when he stands on the verge of his greatest victory? Surely he’d like to hear how a _Roman Senator_ made it all possible.”

 

Calder turned around, his face a careful mask of confusion that did little to hide the murderous hatred in his eyes. “Do you speak to me, young one?”

 

“I know you, Cassius Westerguard,” Kristoff was relentless. “You are a traitor and a murderer, a coward and a liar, and a disgraced former Senator of the Roman Empire.”

 

Harak glared at his scrawny advisor, eyes narrowed.

 

“I am not … what you say,” the old man sputtered. “You confuse me with someone else, young fool.”

 

“Not bloody likely,” Kristoff all but growled. “I saw your face when your brother Marius brought me and the other captured children to your villa in Rome in chains. I saw your face many times as I was forced to fight for your pleasure in the Arena. And I certainly saw your face in the royal box while your brother Gaius Hansel was plotted to murder the emperor and his daughters.”

 

Calder stood his ground as more and more eyes turned to him, his face a study of senile curiosity. “What interesting tales you tell, Northman.”

 

“Not nearly as interesting as the one where you squealed and begged liked a beaten slave when the Roman Empress herself stripped you of your Senator’s seat and seized what was left of your wealth and power.”

 

“I did no such thing!!” Caldar screeched. “That _landīca_ and her _cunna_ of a sister had no right to take what is _mine_! What I worked _decades_ to amass!!"

 

Cassius stood at his full height, quivering with rage, but shrank down in horror once he realized what he had done.

 

“I’m not staying for this,” Borg muttered, throwing down his _seax_ “I won’t let these Romans fool me again.”

 

“He isn’t the one we want. The Roman wench still draws breath,” Harak spat. “and you’d run to spare your miserable lives?!”

 

“Miserable because of you!” “a large raider stepped up beside Borg and sneered at their leader. “How many of us died, _m’Lord,_ because of _you_?!”

 

“Shut your fool mouth, _kuensami_!” Harak cursed.

 

“Not until you answer!” the raider yelled, drawing his war axe. The slithery rasp of steel on leather hissed around the hollow as raider after raider on both sides drew their weapons. “How many died hunting your Roman _meyla_ when that _gaugbrojotr_ stood by your side the whole bloody time?!”

 

“Careful where you tread, _hrafnasueltir_.” Harak sneered. “That Roman wench is daughter to the Jarl who sent the murdering Legions into our lands, and I will take her head for their sins!”

 

“He told you that, did he? And how would he know who this ghost woman is if he wasn’t Roman himself?” the big man shot back, as more raiders edged over to his side. “And now we know your man is the brother of the commander of those Legions! Blood kin to their leader! Take _his_ head for your honor and let us leave this gods-cursed well of bones with what little we’ve managed to scrape--"

 

The big man’s words died in a fountain of bloody foam. Harak pulled his _seax_ from where it pierced the dead man’s bearded throat.

 

The hollow erupted like Vesuvius of old, the two factions tearing into each other. “Get the Roman!” “ _Traitors_!” “Get the gold!” _“Don’t let them escape!”_ “Protect our Jarl!”

 

* * *

 

 

Cassius Westerguard was no warrior. He cared nothing for swords or sweat. Let those who carried their brains in their biceps do the heavy lifting and leave the why to their betters. Cassius wasn’t a warrior, but his hands were far from bloodless. He fought his battles in counting houses and meeting rooms, in secluded halls and on the open the floor of the Senate. He was patient, meticulous, and he played the game with a long eye. He spent decades plotting, maneuvering, scheming with and against the other Roman Houses, and his own brothers, to gain the upper hand. There was little in this world or the next that topped watching your plans bear fruit, seeing your enemies brought low at your whim.

 

And there was little in this or any world more painful than watching your perfect plans ripped to shreds before your eyes.

 

He was so close. So bloody _close_! He’d spent years, _years!_ , living in this frozen backwater, sculpting that subhuman _fĭmus_ Harak into the perfect weapon for his revenge, and all of his efforts were ruined. Ruined _yet again_ by that foul little red-headed _futatrix_ of an Imperial Princess!

 

He wanted her writhing in agony. He wanted her dead. He needed to see her corpse splayed at his feet.

 

But Cassius Westerguard hadn’t survived for as long as he had by making foolish mistakes. He might rage at the delay, but once a plan failed there was no logic in clinging to it. He was no coward, but he knew the value of a strategic retreat.

 

So when the _mentulas_ put their own filthy kennels to the torch, Cassius used the smoke and confusion to abandon his ‘Lord’ and melt into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Kristoff glared, fists clenched, as noise poured out of the hollow: the screams of the Raiders competing with the crackle of the flames engulfing their hovels. Suqi’s hunters stood poised and ready, their bows drawn, though they leaned back from the carnage erupting at their feet. But Kristoff leaned forward, eyes searching, the overlapping plates of his old _manica_ stained the color of dried blood in the firelight.

 

“We’ll have to go down there eventually,” Pabbie frowned. “Our kinswomen are still in there.”

 

“Let them thin themselves out first,” Suqi advised. “No need to join the battle if the fools are content to kill themselves.”

 

“Those fires worry me,” Sven frowned. “We don’t know where our people are.”

 

“Fan out,” Suqi commanded. “Search for signs of our people, but do _not_ go down there.” Her hunters spread themselves along the lip of the hollow, their senses searching where they could not yet go.

 

“Not yet, anyway,” Suqi growled, testing her _seax_ on her fingertip.

 

The hollow boiled like a kettle left too long on the fire. Raider fought raider with little skill, only the madness of trapped vermin. The few sane ones who let their fear goad them instead of their rage tried to run. Tried, but they fell with arrows blooming from their vitals. Suqi’s hunters used their bows to herd them back to the center of the hollow, where their fellows left them no choice but to kill or be killed.

 

They could afford to be patient for a little while longer. All they had to do was wait until the raiders killed enough of their own to make it a fair fight. They knew how to bide their time. They were hunters, after all, moreso than warriors. A hunter knew to wait for his prey, and that an ill-timed move could send it fleeing. The stood still, patient as stones.

 

Until the spindly man hobbled across a clearing. Until one of their own couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“No!” Kristoff roared. “No, Aeris, stop!!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Calder!” Harak roared. Around him his men tore each other to shreds, but Harak paid them no mind other than to kick them out of his way. The weak would fall, as they should. As they always did. As they did all those years ago, when his people died on Roman blades while he survived to avenge them. “Why do you run, my loyal advisor? If you are not Roman, you have nothing to fear! And if you are…” Harak slashed a traitor’s back from neck to waist and stepped over his writhing body as others fell on it with short knives. “If you are, I’ll let you watch me burn her before I impale you on a traitor’s spike!”

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Aeris_!!” Kristoff grabbed Anna’s hand before she could dive down into the hollow.

 

“Cassius is getting away!!” she shrieked. “Let me _go_!!!”

 

“Aeris, you promised…” She fought against his grip, and he fought his own rising terror. Dammit, he was losing her!

 

“He’ll just keep coming if we don’t stop him,” she screamed. She twisted and glared up at him, eyes wild and pleading “He’ll just keep killing us if we don’t stop him. You know he will, and _he’s getting away!!”_

 

“Anna, No! _Please_!!!”

 

Anna clenched her eyes shut. She tried to contain her rage, tried to remember her promises. _But he’s getting away!!!_ her mind screamed. She opened her eyes, and her husband drew his _gladius_.

 

He captured her eyes and held them. “Together,” he murmured. And he dropped her hand.

 

Anna gazed into his eyes, and she remembered. She _remembered_. She wasn’t alone in this. She never was, and she was a fool to think she ever was. Kristoff was there at her side, guarding her back, and stopping this madness was just as important to him as it was to her.

 

Anna drew her _gladius_ and gave her husband a tight smile. “Together.”

 

His answering smile was just as feral.

 

Together, they leapt into the hollow.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Kristoff_?!!?” Sven bellowed as he watched his two closest friends leap down into the madness.

 

“There!!” Suqi screamed, pointing to a cluster of low huts on the far side of the hollow, where they could now hear high voices crying out for aid. “Our kin are in there! Let’s go!” Several hunters drew their blades and leapt into the hollow behind her, followed by a grim-faced Pabbie wielding a long-handled hammer that could crush a skull like an egg. Sven cursed, and followed his wife into the fray.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t a battle. The Raiders, pushed beyond reason, lashed out at everything that moved. A few with some sense gathered what little plunder they could grab, only to be torn to pieces by their former brethren. It was a melee, like the arena of old, with every man for himself, and Kristoff and Anna knew exactly how to survive in such chaos. They moved as one, Kristoff carving a path with his long-bladed _spathea_ while Anna’s _gladius_ slashed and stabbed anyone lucky enough to be spared the former gladiator’s blade yet foolish enough to linger too close. It’d been more than a decade since they last stood in the Arena, but the years had done nothing to diminish their deadly dance.

 

Suqi’s hunters followed in their wake, arrows nocked, picking off the raiders at their flanks. Together they tore through the camp like an axe through rotted wood.

 

“Can you see them?” Sven shouted over the din.

 

“Aye!” Suqi shouted, pointing to a cluster of huts where faint voices cried out for help.

 

Kristoff angled towards the huts, the Raiders in his path too far gone in their frenzied madness to recognize death descending on them. But then over the heads of the writhing melee he saw a hulking shape stalking around the bonfire in the center of camp. It was Harak, towering over a trembling pile of homespun cloak.

 

He stopped. Harak, and Cassius. Kristoff looked down at his _spathea_ , clenched in a white-knuckled grip spattered in bright blood, heedless of his people rushing around him. His blood thundered in his ears, so much so he didn’t notice Pabbie taking his place, leading the charge to free their kinswomen. Those two men were the source of so much pain for so many, not just here but in Rome. They had murdered his family when he was a child. They had made his life a living hell in the _Ludus_. They had destroyed his home and killed so many of his people, including his unborn child. What was to stop them from continuing their decades-long bloodbath? How many more had to die for their pride?

 

Anna was right. They would just keep going. Keep killing. Keep ruining countless lives of good people who just want to live in peace.

 

What was to stop them? _Who_ was to stop them?

 

Kristoff sheathed his _spathea_ on his back. He grabbed his round shield, painted with a stylized flame and eagle, and drew his shorter-bladed _gladius_. He felt more than saw his Anna wrench a shield from a fallen raider and fall in at his side.

 

They stalked their prey together.

 

It was past time for this blood feud to end.


End file.
